Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia
by Jem Cottage
Summary: "Gather round, oh tired and disillusioned waste-folk! I implore you to tune in those antennas, I welcome you to pop open those cans of Potato Crisps, and I require you to huddle up next to those beautiful beaus and honeys of yours; for I, MC 'Anonymous' Valley Chey, have come to regale you! I bring detailed word of just how everyone's favorite wasteland vigilante crew came to be."
1. Chapter 1 - Meat Man

**Motley Mutants: Ch. 1 - Meat Man**

\+ Dirt. All Roc could see through his rifle scope was dirt. He had been sent by clan-leader Boston into the wastes a week ago in order to find more meat for the camp to which he belonged. Over the first six days he was able to bag a fair amount of miscellaneous wasteland creatures without a problem, as he visited all of the common hunting spots near the camp. But, as his tended to do, his luck began to wear thin as he struggled to spot anything besides the occasional buzzing bloat fly. There once was a time when his clan had no need for hunting excursions like this. The clan of over a hundred mutants could easily slaughter dozens of the little pink and brown 'bleeders' who they would find inhabiting prewar buildings and facilities, thus sustaining their numbers. That was, of course, before their second encounter with the metal skinned men. The Metal Men had hunted the clan of mutants relentlessly, pushing them back to the Virginia-Carolines border, to a place once called Warrenton. At times like this, Roc would commonly catch himself happily daydreaming of all the dead human carcasses he and his brothers had collected before the rediscovery of the metal men. His fantasy eroded into that of a taunting dream, when a ripping pain in the pit of his stomach reminded him that he had eaten the last of his personal rations the night before.

"Howuur! Howuur!" Roc stumbled to his feet. The howls had come from Cerberus, his tri-headed mutant hound, whom he had been partners with ever since his first memory. He drew his rifle scope near to his eye and peered through the narrow hole, aiming it towards a nearby collapsed Super-Duper Mart. He scanned through the parking lot of forgotten automobiles and along the outskirts of the building. After a while without any sign of Cerberus, he slung his wooden rifle over his shoulder and began to climb down from the ruined two story building he was using as a vantage point. Once at the bottom he stopped, turned, and looked back to the east. He feared what his brothers would do to him if he returned to camp without meat enough for the whole clan to eat. With a determined grunt and a bit of haste, Roc began jogging in the direction of Cerberus's alert calls.

Soon he was but a few strides away from the old world grocery, and had gone a while without hearing from Cerberus. Lifting his head, he sniffed loudly, sifting through the scents in the air for a particularly fetid aroma which he recognized so well as his companion's. All Roc's FEV enhanced nostrils could sense however was some mole rat dung, a distant irradiated corpse, and of course, dirt. He lowered his head and breathed a dissatisfied grumble. It was taking too long to find Cerberus, and the punishment for returning to camp late would be severe if Boston were to have his say - and he always did. The doors of the Super-Duper Mart were left ajar, their hinges broken; he could only hope it was Cerberus's doing. He shouldered his rifle tightly and entered the dark, vacant building. Inside, the only light he was permitted was the sunlight that shone from where parts of the roof had caved in, however many years earlier. The further he went into the store, the louder the scuttling from deeper parts he could not see, became. With each step he began to feel more and more like an intruder, in someone's or something's home. Due to his considerably weak overall mental acuity, Roc rarely felt scared or afraid even when his life was at stake. However, after standing in the dilapidated store for just a few brief moments, even a hulkish mutant like himself began to have sincere feelings of trepidation. Closing his eyes, Roc once again allowed his sense of smell to explore through the wafting smells of the half-destroyed grocery. This time he began walking as he did so, barely using any sense besides that which his nose readily provided. Though, perhaps the dull mutant should have opened his eyes a bit wider, as he would soon walked right into a knee-high counter, thumping his kneecap so hard that a corner of the tile counter broke free. Upset and frustrated, Roc reached to console himself when he caught glimpse of a pile of rotted bones behind the grocery counter. He reached down, picked one up and held it near to his nose. He inhaled sharply and briefly. "Ghouls..." He decided, aloud. After discarding the worthless and brittle bone, Roc wiped the stream of steadily collecting sweat beads from his brow, and pressed on, rifle raised. He traced the ghoulish scent through the categorized aisles and straight to the double doors in the back of the store. He stood before the blood spotted doors, and began to reach for the handle just as two loud bangs struck it from the other side, causing him to retract his hand. Then, in a near instrumental fashion, the bangs repeated, and repeated again. Roc prepared for whatever was on the other side to break through by hunkering down behind a shelf in what the sign above his head explained, was once the frozen treats aisle. Finally, the doors broke open and through them came a familiar set of deformed faces. The humongous, hairless, and all too green mutated hound trotted forward awkwardly balancing its three heads. They scrambled behind Roc and began howling the way they commonly did when alerted to danger, or when begging for meat scraps. Roc took a moment to calm and quiet the obedient, mutant-mutt by laying his palm on its hairless back. From down the hallway came a trio of feral ghouls, stumbling and tripping over each other in their fervent pursuit of Cerberus. Even now confronted by a 9 foot tall super mutant, the ghouls didn't flinch. Roc raised his rifle and fired a round through the first ghoul's throat leaving it incapacitated and writhing on the floor. He took aim at another one and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened: his rifle had jammed. Before he could even attempt to diagnose the cause of the lockup, the zombie-like monster dressed in a polka-dotted, pink and white dress leaped through the air, landing teeth and talons first on his right forearm. The ghoul's jagged teeth tore deeper into the super mutant's flesh as it dangled from Roc's flailing arm. A moment later the last ghoul, a beast of a being dressed in prewar business casual, clung onto his back and tore out a chunk of the flesh meant to conceal his shoulder blade. The immediate pain surged through Roc, forcing him to open the gate to a caged roar. With his left hand he reached behind himself and grabbed the uninvited piggy backer's head. He squeezed until he could feel its skull bones giving way, and then continued even tighter until the ghoul was forced to release his clamped jaws. He yanked the ghoul out from behind his back, raising it to his eye level; he wanted to witness its suffering. The ghoul did not disappoint Roc as its screams of agony reached decibels so high they temporarily deafened him. He ended the creature's final moments with a grip that turned its skull to not but blood and goo. Satisfied, he released the ghoul's remains, permitting him to focus his full ire on the other clinging biter. Cerberus clamped its powerful sets of jaws around the ghoul's legs, and started pulling in an effort to free its master, while Roc pulled in the opposite direction. Ever still, the determined ghoul stayed firmly attached to Roc's massive foliage colored arm. Roc, now particularly perturbed, grabbed hold of the cereal shelf and tugged on it with all his might. This, coupled with Cerberus's firm grip, finally proved to be too much for the feral being. As the mutants struggled, the ghoul's body began to make audible cracks and pops, until finally its spine snapped in two. The ghoul's now unsupported mid-section tore open, allowing its entrails to pour out freely. The two mutilated ghoul halves fell to the ground with an echoed thump. Ghouls, while inedible to humans due to their high radiation levels, made for a tender treat to the rad-impervious super mutants. Breathing hoarsely, Roc knelt down beside the lifeless carcass. He reached into its chest cavity and pulled out a few withered organs, feeding one to each of his mutant hound's heads as reward for the hunt. Roc couldn't help but spread a thin smile across his face at the sight of them happily gobbling down their well-deserved treats. While they were undoubtedly intimidating in appearance, the conjoined triplets never did take to killing the way other mutant hounds did. Nevertheless, they always provided Roc with assistance when need be. He removed the gore bag from his back and laid it down beside the dead feral ghouls. He took his rusty cleaver out and began quartering the former humans. One by one he placed the sections of meat into the already crowded sack. Surely they would make for good meat in one of Girder's stews, Roc thought. The mutant was packing his bags to go when Cerberus caught wind of another scent in the store. "More ghouls?" Roc asked the mutated dogs, who then gave chase to where their noses had directed them. He watched as Cerberus chased over to a corner of the store labeled, 'C stom r S rv ce'. The hounds rammed their sizable skulls into the door of the pre-war office nook, and barked loudly to get their master's attention. Roc hurried over to the door, bid his creature to heel, and listened carefully with his ear pressed to its cold surface. He heard a noise which to him sounded like a bouncing ball accompanied by a slowly deflating one. Confused, he listened closer, but his diligence only helped better paint the picture of the twin rubber balls, of disparate fortune. "Bouncy balls?" Roc asked through the door. The deflating ball stopped making noise suddenly, and the bouncing one repeated even faster. A bullet slammed through the door suddenly and into Roc's leathery shoulder. He backed away from the door, and poked at his wound curiously. The mutant glanced at the blood which colored his forefinger red. "Bullet?" He speculated.

"You'd better back off asshole! Alright?!" A teenage-human voice shouted from behind the door. "I've got so many bullets back here that I could double your weight just shooting you with them! Thousands of them!" The voice claimed vociferously through the door, accompanied by the audible reloading of a handheld weapon.

"HA-HA! HUMAN in there, Cerberus! Too fun!" Roc bellowed.

"How's this for fun you green, motherfucker?!" *bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang* six shots plus four more rang out loudly, piercing Roc's thick skin harmlessly from hip to neck. Laughing sinisterly, Roc kicked the door to the office in, hurtling it deep into the dark room. It landed at the feet of a wounded girl, causing her to yelp. The blonde human raised her 9mm up and squeezed it tightly and frequently. She was visibly disheartened to find that she had already discharged her entire 10 round clip into the towering super mutant. "Fuck!" She yowled at the ceiling, before throwing her pistol at Roc's chest in defiance.

"NO MORE BULLETS, HUMAN!" Roc relished.

"Listen…please just fucking listen _for once_ , goddammit! All you do is FIGHT and KILL!" Roc continued approaching the girl in her late teens as she bled profusely from her wounded ribcage and outer thigh. "I just came to look for some shitty BlamCo and cheese… C'mon man, you have to under- Aghhuh!" Roc stepped on the scavenger's leg who in turn cried out in pain.

"No more talk, human. No more live, human." Outside of the office, Cerberus was laying patiently atop some scattered newspapers dating back to the month of October, in the year 2077. Its two side-heads licked its front paws, while the middle head napped peacefully, seemingly unaware of the distant hacking noises coming from the office behind them.

\+ The sun was nearly set as Roc and Cerberus stood before the camp gates, their hunt concluded. Roc raised his gore bag above his head; a signal to the gate keeper he had earned his entrance, as was their rule for returning Meat Men. The camp gates slowly rose revealing a rather bustling scene of merry mutants shouting and brawling amongst themselves. The smell of the harvested meats floated through the air as he passed his green skinned brothers and their gawking eyes. Roc threw a piece of raw meat into the air and followed it with a sharp whistle. His mutant hound companion ran after it and into one of the kennels, which Roc then swung firmly shut. Roc made his way past the lower camp and up the twisting hill to the overseeing tent of Clan-Leader Boston. Boston had come from a place called The Commonwealth and had, on his way to the Carolines, accumulated a fairly large throng of super mutants, centaurs, and mutant hounds. At the time of Roc's first memory, Boston had only around half of the mutants he now led. Back then, many mutants were created like Roc was when they still had the means to do so. Later on most were found wandering the wastes or were assimilated from small groups of their own. Many super mutants joined the young mutant's cause, due to a promise of what all mutants held most dear: A promise to obtain more of the 'green and gooey stuff'. The FEV, and barrels of it is what Boston promised to his recruits. Enough to take super mutants from a scattered nuisance, to an unequivocally dominant force in the wastes.

A rather large brute of a mutant stood guard outside Boston's tent, attentively scanning the landscape around it. Roc knew him simply as, Chop; a name which was appropriately awarded to him, given the countless victims he had done so to with his custom halberd. The weapon was essentially an octagonal street sign which he had torn out of the ground one day while dueling a deathclaw. Since then the weapon had been the subject of several enhancements from Boston himself, including a reforged steel center welded between two symmetrical aluminum street signs, and a sharpened spear point shaped using its original steel post. Chop was Boston's most fierce supporter, whom he protected mostly preemptively by thwarting any plans of rebellion before they were formed. He did so simply by being the necessary hurdle between Boston and any would-be usurpers. Roc's stride came to a halt as he laid his laboriously collected meat before the dutiful warden.

A long moment passed as Chop glared at the bag. Then suddenly, looking up at Roc, he asked,

"What this is?" he sniffed the air above the sack, then continued "Meat?"

"Meat." Roc replied plainly.

Another long moment drifted by, followed by another, before the increasingly inquisitorial mutant yet again wondered aloud, "Meat?"

"Meat." Roc repeated mildly, still not understanding the reason for the confusion.

Chop leaned back and opened the tent shroud slightly before exclaiming into it the words, "Boston! Meat man here!" For a while, Roc could not tell if the tent was inhabited at all. Then a shadow appeared, blocking the light which shone through the tent flap. The flaps then parted ways revealing a mutant who stood an entire head shorter than the one already in front of him, yet equally imposing in ways Roc couldn't quite understand. The mutant wore a black shirt, black cargo pants, black boots, and a strange copper-colored crown.

"Meat man say bag got guts innit. True, methink. But not sure. You think me -"

"Thank you, Chop. You are a fine sentinel, but I would remind you that your duties do not extend to that of detective. This one I sent for meat, and meat he has returned with. He deserves, your thanks." Chop, while thoroughly confused by certain words his master had just uttered, had been in his company long enough to understand what he was supposed to do. And so, reluctantly, he turned to Roc and signaled his thanks by patting his head and then chest in quick succession. Roc promptly returned the common mutant gesture as a courtesy. They both then turned to Boston, who appeared to be satisfied with the exchange.

"Come, Roc." Chop stood firmly in the way of the entrance refusing to remove his beady eyed stare from Roc's head. Roc picked up his sack and slid past him and into the tent, barely cognizant of the larger mutant's anger. Wires, clothes, scattered ammunition, and books littered the dwelling almost completely. The interior was illuminated by several lanterns placed on adjacent shelving units, one of which held an automatic rifle that the orphaned ammo could have possibly belonged to, though Roc did not deduce this. Instead, Roc curiously followed the wires with his eyes to a cattycornered desk that supported a brightly colored glass monitor. Boston stood in front of his dusty metal desk, incidentally obscuring the monitor from Roc. "My studies, are very important, I assure you. But they leave little room for much else, including general hygiene it would seem." Roc again pulled the sack from his back and dropped it to the ground. "Meat." He again asserted. "Oh, so you aren't a mute imbecile after all!" Boston chuckled as if he had just told a joke. If he had, Roc thought, Roc did not get it. "Very well, meat it is. Looks to be enough for a while, when combined with Brand's haul, that is. You can take that to Girder later, but first I have something I need to ask of you first, young Roc." Roc was again beginning to feel an unease he only ever felt when talking to Boston. No other mutant paid him much attention, and he preferred it that way. Quiet meant more sleep, and sleep meant dreams. "What you need?" He muttered just over his breath.

"It is not my needs that require fulfilling, rather the needs of our entire race, Roc. Did you encounter any metal skinned men during your travels?" Roc's face wrinkled as he struggled to remember.

"I think…no. Not since long time ago." He admitted. Boston stared directly into Roc's eyes for a long moment, as if he were choosing whether or not to be satisfied with the answer.

"I suspected so." He stood up from his leaning position on his desk, turned around to face it, and then reached into one of its many drawers. He spoke over his shoulder, "I think that there's a reason for that Roc. I believe that the metal ones have their own base of operations to the south. Uhh, a camp…of sorts." Boston turned around and extended his hand to Roc, loosely clutching a rolled paper. "Here. Take it." He said, adding a slight gesture. Roc took the mysterious scroll and unrolled it slowly. "It's a road map. Chop and I acquired it from a fallen metal man. It should have directions that will lead us directly to our enemy's gates. We need only send scouts to confirm." He paused briefly, "I want you and Brand to be those scouts." Roc looked up at Boston. "I need you and Brand to investigate the validity of this map, and go to wherever it leads you." Roc shifted his focus back to the map. He wasn't sure if he was confused more by Boston, or the odd ink scratchings draped across the top of the map. His face must have shown his frustration because suddenly Boston pointed a finger at one of the markings and spoke softly, "These are letters. They read B-O-S, or BOS. It is an acronym, which stands for, 'The Brotherhood of Steel'. The true identity of these metal men. You leave tomorrow. I have already taken the time to debrief Brand. He is preparing to leave, and I suggest you do the same."

\+ Roc couldn't sleep. For the last week he had spent his nights atop buildings, in abandoned shacks, or wherever else he could find that provided minimal shelter. Every one of those nights he went to bed longing to be sleeping exactly where he was then, in his tiny quarters above the mutant hound and centaur kennels. The collective and all too monotonous drones of the lesser mutants always seemed to help him slowly drift from consciousness. Eventually he was able to focus on their dull incoherencies and await the ensuing dreams. Dreams, however, did not come. In their stead were nightmarish visions of the metal men. They surrounded him, but on him, they were not focused. Their lasers darted towards an enveloping and slowly approaching darkness. He tried to stand only to realize he was gravely wounded and thus could not. Blood raced freely now from his body. "Not my body", he thought. "A pink man's body". Under the blood he could see only pink skin. His limbs were encased in metal now. Through a screen's heads up display, he saw highlighted creatures approaching from the darkness. Tall, strong, fast, and green creatures. They were his brothers, coming to rescue him, he decided. He planted his hands on the ground and lifted himself up using the metal suits added strength. He could tell that his brothers were winning, as many of the metal men had fallen now, littering the ground around him. He held his wound shut with one hand and waved to his brothers with the other. He had never been happier to see Chop then when he noticed him sprinting his way now. He emphatically yelled "Brother!" several times to him without return. Roc couldn't understand; why didn't Chop respond? Chop stopped a yard in front of him, his beady eyes filled with more than mere suspicion now. In them Roc could only identify conclusion. Chop raised his axe above his head, and down it came. The darkness was complete.


	2. Chapter 2 - Uncle Leo

**Motley Mutants Ch. 2 - Uncle Leo**

\+ The rusty frame of the camp gates screeched as it was hoisted into the air. Once raised, three figures emerged from beneath it allowing the straining gate keepers to release the chains slamming it shut behind Roc, Cerberus, and brother Brand. Roc was always comfortable traveling with Cerberus; mutant hounds never tried to have conversations with him, or ask him for favors. Super mutants on the other hand always seemed to have something to say, and so having Brand around complicated things for Roc. Roc and Brand were two of only a half dozen mutants who Boston trusted to lead trips into the wastes. Consequently, that meant they rarely saw one another. Brand was a gimp, of sorts. When walking, he would waddle back and forth, appearing slightly shorter than he actually was due to his under developed left leg. Roc tried his best to refrain from mentioning or even looking at the slightly discolored limb. He remembered how the infamous "last one" to heckle the deformed mutant ended up fed to the mutant hounds after a particularly brutal mauling involving a metal chain. Even though killing another mutant was considered taboo under Boston's doctrine, most clansmen suspected that even Boston didn't want to bear the wrath of the self-conscious mutant next, and neither did Roc. And so the two traveled in a manner which served to please them both: silently.

\+ Roc held up his hand signaling a halt to the mutants behind him. Their 10 hour trek had left them exhausted and welcoming to the momentary reprieve. Roc kneeled and rummaged through his pockets until his hand detected a small paper, which he then removed and carefully unrolled. He traced the lines on the road map with his finger, starting with their camp, which according to Boston was in a place called Warrenton, down through a place once called Oxford, and onto a road named I-85. In order to compensate for the fact that neither Roc nor Brand were literate, Boston had made the map easy enough for them to understand, with their route highlighted, and their destination marked with a blue circle. About midway through the road was their destination, at which they had arrived. Roc stood up and turned a complete 180 degrees to face Brand whose face portrayed emotions of both confusion and annoyance. He strode towards Roc and swiped the map from his hands. "We here or what Dumb-Dumb?"

"Map say, yes." Replied Roc, clearly unoffended by Brand's ever enduring cantankerous demeanor. Brand focused on the map for a short moment, quietly mumbling to himself as he attempted to best Roc's map reading skills.

"If map say yes, then why no metal men here?" Brand growled.

"Don't know. Boston said map show Roc where, and map show here." Roc replied plainly. Brand tossed the map to the ground with a curse, which Roc promptly reacquired. He whistled to Cerberus to come to him. The mutant hound hustled over to him, its heads bumping into one another as it ran. "Find them." He whispered while holding a piece of broken steel to the hounds' snouts. With its orders it scuttled further down the highway, sniffing the air for any trace of steel.

"What we do now, Roc? Sit? Wait?" Brand asked. Roc, without saying a word, sat and began waiting. Brand reluctantly followed suit and remained quiet for a spell. After a few impatiently spent minutes without an alert call, Brand rose and spoke, "It must have left. Go and -" Roc looked up at Brand quizzically, wondering why he had cut himself off so abruptly. Brand was staring blankly into the distance, his usually dark eyes were now bright from reflected moonlight. Roc peered into the sky and began searching for the moon, and for a few moments, he saw nothing. Then, through the distant trees, he saw it approaching quickly. With it came a muffled choppy noise that ricocheted through the forest. Roc had never heard the moon before, and as such he found himself awestruck by its thunderous approach. "Moon…" Roc dazedly announced. The two mutants were rendered mute by the experience, until finally it emerged from the trees revealing itself to be a spotlight perched atop the nose of a flying metal machine. The mechanical bird's engines sputtered and slowed to hover over the road. Before it could reach a complete stop two large shadowy figures dropped from its sides and landed on the pavement with a duo of resounding thumps. As the dark silhouettes turned to face the mutants, bright lights of their own appeared, highlighting Roc and Brand. Their flying transport sped past Roc and Brand, landing further up the road, effectively flanking them.

"Metal Men!" Shouted Brand as he removed his assault rifle from his back, and began unleashing a storm of lead on the approaching silhouettes. The metal men barely flinched as the rifles 5.56 rounds pinged and zipped off of their thick framed bodies. Roc looked at the metal bird and saw another two hulking figures stomping their way out of it. He shouldered his wooden rifle and let loose a couple of shots, one for each of the pursuers. They landed exactly where he wanted them to, but were simply not strong enough to penetrate their metal faces. He continued shooting until he had wasted an entire clip into the duo, who were now only a few strides away from him. To Roc's left he noticed that Brand had run out of ammo too, and that he now gripped a sledge hammer tightly above his head. He waited until the first metal man was within his range and then swung with all of his might only to have the improvised war-hammer be caught in midair and its wooden shaft snapped in half. The metal man discarded the now useless weapon and retaliated with a punch directly into Brand's stomach, easily rivaling the hammers power. Brand grunted, vomited, and doubled over and onto the ground where he received a final knockout kick to the head. The remaining three metal men sprinted towards Roc and wrestled him to the ground quickly. Roc flailed about violently trying to hurt the seemingly impenetrable beings, yet for all of his fury, he only managed to split his own knuckles open. One metal man grabbed his right arm, and another his left, as they pinned him to the ground.

"Senior Scribe Daughtry, we have the larger one subdued and prepped. You're clear for approach." The voice came from the third metal man who stood between the two currently restraining him. From behind him Roc saw a much smaller human walk in between the metal men and kneel over him. "Human!" Roc shouted. The woman flinched but then quickly regained her composure leaning in closer, and extending an arm to Rocs chest. He fidgeted and squirmed, unsure of what the frail, orange-haired human was going to do.

"Hold still. We're going to help you." The woman promised. She raised a clenched hand, and then thrusted it down onto his sternum. Roc opened his mouth to yell, but by then he had already fled from consciousness. The soldiers continued to hold him tightly, until finally one spoke timidly. "Is he out?"

"Yes. You can release him. Please be careful when placing him onto the vertibird. He seems to be the better specimen of the two."

"Of course -" The third metal man paused to signal orders to his subordinates. "-but what do we do with the gimp? Should we bring him too?" The teenage scientist placed palm to cheek and thought for a moment, after which she knelt down beside the super mutant. She extended a rubber gloved hand towards Brand's scrawny limb and ran her fingers across the protruding muscles.

"It's, human. Isn't it? The pigmentation, the size. Most mutants lose their sexual attributes as a result of being exposed to the FEV. I believe, although I will have to perform an in depth analysis to confirm, that this one was once a male man, as indicated by the muscle and bone structure of the unaltered foot." As she felt the leg, her imagination ran wild with the scientific implications that arose when confronted with a super mutant who somehow was able to retain a part of its human physiology after its transformation. "We'd better bring him in as well."

\+ The smooth tile floors made familiar clipping and clopping noises beneath scribe Daughtry's heels as she strode the empty halls. It was a rather obnoxious echo, and could be clearly heard from around the corners of any hallway in her laboratory unit. It didn't bother her however, as she was never concerned with making a discrete entrance. In fact, she rather enjoyed the way the lower ranking scribes knew she was coming and as such had time to make an effort to straighten up and make sure everything was in order before she arrived. She was by far the youngest among the Senior Scribes, at the youthful age of 18, but her knowledge of advanced biological sciences and technologies couldn't be denied nor surpassed by any of them regardless of age - and she knew it. Her noisy clip-clops finally ceased when she stopped in front of a door, which had the words "LEO Chambers" painted in red followed by the abundantly found letters, "B O S". She paused for a moment and wondered why the Brotherhood had always felt compelled to label every door, wall, and chair in their facilities. There were nearly as many painted labels in her lab as she had freckles on her face, and she had plenty. It was as if they were afraid that someone would come along and claim the facility to be theirs had they not put their initials all over it. She took a sharp breath, then swiftly she opened the door and entered the dark, cold room. She placed her hot mug down on the desk. It's odd, she thought, but darkness always tended to suit her better, especially while working. Had she been working with her team at the time, they would have surely protested against her "shadow studies", claiming it promoted singular thought, and limited interpersonal discussion. But the darkness helped her focus - it helped her think. In it, the only things she could focus on were the two bodies trapped inside of the giant glass cylinder in front of her. Inside, each mutant's hands were restrained by chains from the ceiling, and their ankles from the floor. They were suspended in a viscous bio-regenerative substance, which served to mimic the environment of a womb. The cylinder's green illumination was perfect for studying the subjects within, yet it lacked enough light for her to jot down notes on paper. Placing her clipboard to the side, she opted for a more classic form of remembrance. After a period of time she turned away and retrieved her mug. Before sipping it she hesitated and poked at its contents: cold. She put it back down with a sigh and again approached the captive super mutants. This time she focused on subject A. and now quietly recited to herself the known data.

"Subject A is 8 ft. 9 ½ in. tall from his fully mutated leg up, and has a greenish yellow pigmentation. While he has a crude tattoo that seems to read 'Brand' on his left deltoid, his most distinguishing feature must be his human-like left leg, which does not carry the same pigmentation of the rest of his body. Rather -" Scribe Daughtry paused and asked aloud, "Did…you just…move?" She snapped her attention to the two heart rate monitors against the wall. The Subjects weren't due to wake up for another hour, yet subject A's monitor had begun to spike. Slightly once, then twice, then again and again. "Shit." Inside the glass the mutant was wide awake, now. He barely struggled to snap his hand restraints, before he began head butting the 20 mm shock absorbent glass. Scribe Daughtry searched her brown messenger bag for her 10mm pistol. She focused on breathing and calming herself, like she remembered her mother teaching her long ago. Finally, she grabbed the pistol and aimed it square at the mutant who pulled his now bloody head back, and with a final blow broke through the glass, leaving nothing but air between himself and Daughtry. Subject A squatted and leaped without realizing he was still restrained by his smaller ankle, which slammed him back to the floor. He continued his pursuit on three limbs, now crawling towards the armed scribe, occasionally slipping on the spilt viscous substance. She yelped and squeezed the trigger repeatedly until the gun stopped jerking, and then squeezed it a few more times. She dropped the empty gun, disheartened to find that it had had little effect on the ever more furious mutant. Her mother's calming tactics failed her now, as she began screaming loud for help, with countless tears rolling down her face. "Human! You're gonna DIE!" His voice was booming and maniacal, and filled with a hunger she had yet to encounter in her sheltered life. She looked and noticed there were two sets of beeps coming from the heart monitors, and before she could look back, Subject B, as if he had been awake the whole time, came leaping out of his glass encasement and onto the smaller mutant. He stomped down hard on the mutant's smaller leg, completely crushing it and prompting his victim to scream. He then knelt down over Subject As back and swung fist after fist at the back of his head. Daughtry stared blankly with her mouth roughly in the shape of an O, confused as to why, or _if_ , Subject B had just saved her. He continued for a few more swings, until finally, exhausted, he relented and stood above the deceased mutant. His breath reflected his punches: heavy and often. Scribe Daughtry's eyes remained pasted to the pieces and puddles that were once Subject A's skull. "Where is Roc…or…where am I?" Daughtry managed to close her mouth as she peered up at Subject B's face. It was a mutant who spoke, the same mutant she had heard speak two days ago when she found him, but the sentence sounded like it had come from a being much saner. She stood to face her unlikely savior. "Who…who is…who's Rock?" She forced herself to ask through her chattering jaw.

"I am. Or… I am Rocky." He paused and glanced at his body. "I am…a super mutant?"

She studied his face. He showed no signs of hostility, at least, not towards her. She hadn't anticipated such a question, and so she stuttered. "Y-you're…a super mutant. Yes."

"Why…do I not remember? Where am I now? Who are you?" The mutant inquired.

"I'm a scribe, a…a kind of scientist. I'm with the Brotherhood of Steel. My name is Liona Daughtry."

"Metal Men... I remember Metal Men. But..." His eyes wandered.

"But what?" She refocused the mutant.

"I…Rocky that is, do not remember anything. Except that I was, and am I suppose, him."

"Look I know how confusing this has to be for you, but if you just -"

"You… You took me. Took me and…Brand." The mutant slowly turned his attention to the twitching body of his kin, whose blood now painted his own hands red. He refocused on the orange haired woman with renewed vigor. "Where is Cerberus?!"

"Cerberus? Wh-who is that?"

It was then that the lab door swung open and one scrawny, red-robed man entered the room.

"I've got him, Daughtry! Get down!" He screamed.

"No stop!" Daughtry yelled, but her words came too late and the shivering figure in the doorway had already fired. Roc fell limp and crashed onto the bloody laboratory floor. "What did you do? What did you do!?" She leapt to her knees and felt the mutant's limp body for a pulse. "Did you kill him?!"

"Relax Daughtry, they were just tranquilizers. Really frickin' powerful tranquilizers. You know I wouldn't waste- aww shit, did he kill the other one?"

"Yes Theodore. The LEO gene didn't take to Subject As system, but in Subject B it seems to have flourished. He - before you came storming in guns blazing like a want-to-be knight - was capable of non-hostile communication and even eloquent speech."

"A super mutant? Eloquent? Sorry if I don't take your word for it Liona."

"Have you forgotten Leo already?!" She roared, which, coupled with the fierce look she gave him could have been enough to incite another tranquilizer dart from poor Theodore, who hung his head low and apologized.

"What's done is done, and luckily he'll be out long enough for us to prepare. Gather the rest of the team, and maybe a couple of Knights as well, we'll need help if we're going to move him into a room suitable for an interview."

\+ First a light. It was far too bright to look at, so he didn't. Then three figures, draped in red, with blurry faces. The one in the middle leaned in closer and spoke as it slowly came into focus.

"Hello, are you awake? How do you feel?" Her voice was calm, and yet strangely both cold and warm. It was the human who called itself Daughtry. Roc pulled his hands up to his face only to realize they were restrained at the wrist again, this time with considerably larger chains and more of them. Looking at his feet he could see his ankles were given the same treatment. He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes slowly until the bright lights on the ceiling stopped hurting them. Looking up, he could see all three of them clearly now. All staring intently at him, all holding clipboards and pencils close to their chests.

"There's water there. O-on the table. If y-you're thirsty, I mean." Stuttered a female voice from Daughtry's left. Roc met eyes with the tiny raven haired girl who spoke. She smiled nervously for a second, and then, as if remembering something, she looked back down at her clipboard and began writing.

"How do you feel?" Said Daughtry, who hadn't yet leaned back in her chair.

"I feel…confused. Who are these humans? More…" The bulky mutant took a moment to think. "Scribes?" The two of whom he spoke shifted in their seats to look at one another, and then jotted down something on their clipboards.

"To my right is Theodore Wicket. He is a Senior Scribe like myself. To my left is Sharon Price, she is the granddaughter of our leader, Elder Cyrus, and an Apprentice Scribe." The girl to Daughtry's left looked to be but a few years her junior, despite the many ranks separating them.

"Hmm. _Brotherhood_ , then." The mutant growled. "I am…Roc. But to you, maybe I am Rocky."

"I wanted to thank you for saving me from the other mutant earlier. He was clearly out of control, and I'm sorry to say our tests failed to save him." Daughtry explained.

"Brand? Hm. I killed him, yes. 'Murderer' will be the tamest of the names they will call me, I'm sure." The mutant responded.

"Who's they?" Asked the man named Theodore.

"My kin, human. My brothers. Super Mutants. Their leader is a strong one, who they call Boston. I have seen him deal with murderers and traitors before." The mutant's facial expression grew dark then.

"Do you have any questions for us, Roc?" asked Theodore.

"Questions? ...Yes, I do. What I just told you, about Boston. That is Roc's story. It is not the only story of mine that I remember though. There is another, far vaguer story. I feel like I'm in a dream… I know I am Roc, because I've always been Roc. But something else has awoken in me, and it tells me something different. What happened to me?" Theodore and Sharon both looked at Daughtry, who at last leaned back and ran her fingers as best she could through her curly hair.

"About 9 years ago we were sent south by our original Elder, Elder Maxson, in order to scour the east coast for technology on our way to the prewar University known as Duke; that's where we are now. On our way here, we found a super mutant sitting on a dock near an old farm. Knight patrols come across hundreds of mutants every year, and the further north you go the worse it gets, so this wasn't surprising. Err, no offense." Daughtry blushed slightly, but the mutant seemed unaffected by her words, and so she proceeded. "Anyway, the mutant sitting at the dock was doing something our Knights had never seen one do before: he was singing. He had no armor, no weapons, and he had no company, and he was singing. The Knights, led by Commander Dorsey -" She stopped to point at a lightly armored soldier in the far corner of the room. "-began laughing, and pointing at the mutant unconcerned of such a queer one posing any real threat. The mutant stood then, and began laughing as well, perhaps attempting to join in all the fun. And well, I'll let the Commander finish." The tall elderly soldier holstered his sidearm, and approached the table at which they spoke, to do so himself.

"The mutant gets up, and comes walking over to us. Like we were old friends or something. I tell my guys to stay sharp, but hold your fire, and they did. When he reaches us, I can see his expression change, maybe he recognized us as Brotherhood. I don't know. But he apologizes for interrupting and says he will leave us alone. I stop him from leaving, and ask him why he was singing. He says, and I do fucking quote, 'After I was made to be what you see before you, a super mutant, my brothers didn't allow me to do so. So I left. Now that I am alone I can sing to my heart's content. But I do apologize if it bothered you, human.' I nearly shit a brick at that point! I mean we had never even talked to a super mutant before, and now we were being apologized to by one? Anyway, we asked if he had a name and he told us to call him Uncle Leo. My field scribe at the time, Liona's mama that is, convinced him that he should come with us back to our camp, and he did."

"Thank you Commander. When they returned with him, there were problems. Many of us thought we should kill him and be done with it, despite his clearly peaceful disposition. Others were of the mind that he posed no threat but were still uncomfortable with him being present at our camp, and said we should allow him to leave back into the wastes. But in the end my mother convinced Elder Cyrus to allow her to interview him. A full psych evaluation. Once the interview was granted and conducted, she deemed that he must have had some sort of genetic predisposition to fight the FEVs neurological degenerative qualities, and its behavioral modifications. She and Uncle Leo talked a lot over the trip to Duke, and over the following two years he would find a way to ingratiate himself not only with her, but with our entire community. Some even thought he should be granted full amnesty, and the clearance to come and go as he liked. But, of course while there is power in majority, the few sometimes define the day. And there was only one man who saw fit to end the mutant's life, and who did. He was our Head Scribe, a man named Gerald Fasner. He never liked Leo, and he was a proponent of the idea that we kill him like we had killed so many other super mutants before. "They cannot be cured of their violent nature" he said. But, after being overruled and outvoted, for a time he was able to swallow his pride and leave Leo be, until one day Gerald's son, a low ranking Knight, died out in the wastes patrolling near Richmond HQ. It was a super mutant that had killed him, chopped him to pieces. It was too much for Fasner; to him it was a sign that he had been right all along. He snuck into Uncle Leo's quarters after hours one night and set it on fire, killing him. Many heard the mutant's screams of terror and agony, and when they came to Leo's room they found Fasner kneeling and sobbing before it. At his trial he would only say that he did what the rest of us were too cowardly to do, and that he had saved us all. Many called for his execution -"

"Everyone did!" Barked the Commander named Dorsey, whose face wrinkled in disgust just listening to the scribe's recount.

"Everyone except my mother. She asked that he be stripped of his head scribe status, and be outcast, but not killed. I was a little girl when this happened, maybe 12 years old. I have many memories of Uncle Leo, and I cherish all of them...we all do. When I asked my mother why she didn't want Fasner to be hurt, she told me with tears in her eyes, 'I do want him hurt child. But Leo wouldn't.' Ever since that day it felt as though I barely saw my mother. She obtained the head scribe position left by Gerald and remained in her laboratory for most days, down to the last of them. I was never allowed to know what she was working on during those years, no one besides her team and Elder Cyrus was. The year after my mother died, when I was 16, I finally made it to scribe, allowing me the clearance I required to finally access my mother's studies and documents. What I found was nearly inconceivable. She was working on a way to save every super mutant from their own hostilities, using Uncle Leo's genes. The FEV works by copying the host cell's DNA, and placing them into exons that are then reintroduced into the hosts cells alongside preprogrammed introns, to be repeated indefinitely, granting those it affects a sort of immortality and radiation immunity. My mother created a way for Uncle Leo's genes to be seamlessly added and replicated indefinitely as well, but only in a host who has already been exposed to the FEV: a super mutant. I've spent my teenage years studying as best I could, so that I could be in the position that I am in now. To be able to say that I have finished her work. Roc, you are it. You are the very first successful LEO super mutant."


	3. Chapter 3 - Call me Rocky

**Motley Mutants Ch. 3 - Call Me Rocky**

\+ To the rest of the world that had been scorched by nuclear fire exactly 218 years ago, it was a Tuesday morning. To Roc, it was the time when the fluorescent light bulbs perched above his head were set to automatically turn on and wake him up. It had been a whole week since his interview with the Brotherhood scribes. He had spent most of his time either sleeping or reading through the stack of prewar books that Daughtry had provided during her visits; visits which came to be the best parts of his days in Brotherhood captivity. He enjoyed the way she always seemed to be in the mood for long conversations and how she always brought warm food for him to eat. Every day he thought she would begin to interrogate him on his life as a mutant, or his life before that, as a human of which he could remember nothing but a name: Rocky. Instead they seemed to find themselves talking about mostly meaningless things like the different curiosities that the old world's inhabitants had left behind, or their theories of what life is like in the other parts of the world since the bombs fell. Alas, their fun and meaningless conversations always seemed to be cut short. After an hour or so Daughtry would glance at her wrist watch, rise from the plastic table in the holding cell and say, "Goodbye Roc. I'm sure that I will see you again tomorrow." Which is exactly what she had told him the day before, precisely 24 hours ago. She was late, and Roc knew it. He had no way of confirming his suspicions, as he had no way to tell time, and without windows he hadn't even the sun's position to go off of, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was awry.

He paced back and forth in front of the entrance, occasionally glancing at the door when some random footsteps would appear, only to hear them pitter patter away. Roc wondered what he could have said to hurt her feelings: had he been rude to her? 'No', he decided firmly. He had been as he always was to her, and she seemed how she had always seemed to him. He played the flip-flop game, constantly guessing, deciding, and second guessing when suddenly he heard what sounded like large metal boots stomping their way to his door. At once his heart sank, as if somehow it had been late for tea with his stomach. He didn't know how but somehow, he thought, he must have failed her test, and the metal men were coming to execute him. Or worse, somehow Boston had received word that Roc had betrayed and murdered Brand, and it was Chop marching towards him, to do to Roc what Roc had done to Brand. They grew closer and closer, and he had nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run. He stood before the door, frozen from anxiety and paranoia. Then, as if meant to thaw him, there came a familiar rap on the door. It was the same knock he had heard every day for the last week. He felt a wave of warmth rush over him, completely banishing his frigid nerves. While the door didn't lock from the inside, as it was a prison cell, Liona always unlocked it first from the outside, allowing him to answer the door after she knocked. He pulled open the steel door and saw Liona Daughtry, flanked on both sides by Brotherhood Knights in Power Armor. He was used to her arriving with a single Knight, but never with two in full Power Armor, fully equipped with un-holstered Laser Rifles. "Liona." Roc began, trying his best to focus on her, and not on what he assumed were the men who would be his executioners. "You're late." He could see the metal men shift uneasily as he spoke. He recognized that he must have seemed as queer to them as they seemed to him.

"Yes I know, I had to run a few extra errands before I came. Today is going to be a little different, as I assume you've already gathered."

"Different how?" For a moment, and not a second longer, a rare smile flickered across her face. She quickly reigned it in and asked,

"How much do you know about architecture Roc?"

\+ The Clan-Voice once told Chop, "To be bored is to be intelligent enough to recognize the staleness of your current situation." And, in that way, Chop had been blessed with an extremely dull intellect. He was able to guard his master's tent for hours on end, in complete silence; that is, excluding the occasional involuntary release of flatulence. That's not to say he was grinning and humming the whole time, because he rarely performed either of those actions unless he was killing or eating, but rather just that he didn't mind waiting awhile for his master to summon him, even if that meant staring blankly into the blue sky until it turned black and starry. Once the sky was devoid of all sunlight, Boston relieved Chop of his duties and sent him away to his quarters. After Chop departed Boston lingered for a while outside of his tent, peering over his throng of mutants and the shanty-like encampment they had constructed. Most of the camp's inhabitants had returned to their quarters, save for that nights selected camp guards, who remained scanning the wastes. They hadn't been attacked by the Brotherhood of Steel in a little over a month, so it had become less necessary to keep watch overnight. Even still, Boston thought, at least it gave the more restless mutants something productive to do during the nights. With a brief sigh he turned and walked back into his tent atop the hill. He sat on his bed and began undressing one piece at a time. First his used-to-be-white-but-now-deeply-stained t-shirt, then his hand-crafted size 28 black boots. He was unfastening the belt to his black cargo pants when he heard a chirp echo its way from his computer. He took two long strides to his computer and sat before it. His eyes ran anxiously along the text it provided. At the head of the screen, there was a familiar emblem accompanied by an equally familiar acronym. He clicked on it and a new screen appeared, spotted with a few lines of text. It read,

" **Hello friend. It's odd, isn't it? I never would have guessed that one day I would be referring to a super mutant as a friend. Although, I also never would have thought that a mutant could be so helpful to a man in his time of need.**

 **I'll spare you the verbosity of which I was subjected to in the scribe's reports. They've received the subjects, and they've completed their tests and procedures. The introduction of the LEO gene into Subjects A and B were met with drastically different results. Subject A - the one with the human limb - did not respond well to the gene. He awoke suddenly in a fit of rage, and was killed by Subject B, who by firsthand account, was said to have been protecting the scribe from Subject A's wrath. Subject B has since exhibited no more irregular behavior than any human man, and has seemed to have regained an undefined degree of his intellect as well. Despite the 50/50 nature of the results, I believe you'll agree that the LEO procedure has been proven to be a success. The details and collected data of the procedure have been attached in the file below."**

"They actually did it… Interesting." Boston began speaking - as he commonly did - to himself. He had long ago accepted it as a consequence of surrounding himself with a fellowship of such vacuous individuals. "It's hardly a large enough pool of candidates to render an ultimate verdict, but even still... What they've done is actually quite remarkable." Boston's focus lingered for a moment on a distant memory, one wherein he could recall a man who had yearned to accomplish much the same, whose progress had been halted by his own alliances. "He should have never helped me, that old egg head. The white coats never did appreciate a contrarian. Though in the end, I suppose his sacrifice won't be a vane one after all."

Before retiring to his bed he retrieved a white laser rifle variant from behind his desk. As he cleaned it he realized the amount of wear it had suffered from his now obvious neglect. He was also reminded of the tedious nature involved in caring for a firearm, which further reminded him of why he had neglected the rifle for so long in the first place. He would make it pristine before long however, and with good reason. For he knew that it would get its fair share of attention in due time.

\+ Perhaps he had been locked away in that artificially lit room for too long, Roc worried. As he left the front door of the laboratory he could feel himself getting stronger as if he were a young oak tree siphoning power from the sun and its rays. He was told to follow closely behind Head Scribe Daughtry, and to listen to her every order, and that if he failed to do so he would be met with, 'swift and harsh penalties'. This of course was not told to him by Daughtry. But rather barked at him by the loyal soldiers who were sworn to protect her. Roc snarled at the soldiers as they pushed him along, but elected to acquiesce to their demands despite his deep yearning to crush their heads together. Before long he was led into a wide open field spotted with lush green trees and plots of grass. He saw paved walkways bustling with various Brotherhood citizens going about their day and performing their duties. There were men and women gathered at benches and tables conversing and socializing while dozens of children played under trees and in the grass with their friends. The entire scene was enveloped by colossal buildings made from shaped stone and punctuated with colorful stained glass windows. What Roc found most noteworthy was the fact that the bright, multi-colored windows remained in perfect condition; not even the slightest crack could be spotted upon them. Directly to his right he found a garden being carefully tended to by a rust bucket of a being who, Roc speculated, by the copious amounts of neon orange duct tape and protruding circuitry, must have been repaired many times since its initial commissioning. Yet what it lacked in looks and youth it more than made up for in skill, and quality of work. It floated via combustion propulsion and using its four uniquely tooled limbs could easily and effectively perform as many jobs simultaneously. Daughtry noticed Roc had begun falling behind, and in order to avoid any unnecessary altercations she slowed her pace so as to be parallel to the mutant. Rocs mouth was left completely ajar while his mind tried to process all of the images that his eyes recorded. "Pretty, isn't it?" Daughtry said in an attention grabbing tone.

"Pretty? Yeah, I guess it is. Who's the robot?" He gestured a giant green finger at the floating machine.

"That's Hummingsworth, our friendly neighborhood defective Mr. Handy. He's been with us for quite some time now. At first we had him working at The Commissary with Chef Holtsman, but his constant humming was found to be all too annoying for the culinarian. So he's been working the fields as our produce gardener ever since. The Botany Scribes don't seem to be bothered by him."

"He does seem to enjoy his work, if that's even _possible_ for such a being." Roc growled, although he did not mean to. Due to his enlarged larynx and sinuses, he often found his tone did not match that which his mind had intended.

"Hm-hm. Yes. I suppose he does." She chuckled.

They walked down the center-most path leading to the forts main building. As they drew closer Roc noticed that there was a herd of children beginning to form around him. All of their tiny eyes rendered him as uncomfortable as he could ever remember being. He tried to shoo them away in order to break the awkwardness he felt by making scary faces and waving his arms slightly. Whenever he would look directly at one of them, the chosen child would shriek and dart away to safety. "Uncle Leo! Uncle Leo's back!" Shouted a brave young girl to his left. Roc glanced at the tiny tyke who returned it with an ear-to-ear sort of grin. Surprising even himself, he smiled back, even though he knew that he was of course not the Uncle Leo whom the girl spoke of. From his right, one of the boys who he thought he had scared off came running back with a loaded sling shot. The brown haired rascal pulled back the weapons cradle and zipped a stone directly into Roc's neck, making him wince and rub the area of impact like how a human would address a bug bite. Roc turned and roared ferociously in the direction of the group of children, scaring them all off at once. One of the soldiers aimed his rifle at Roc's head as a precaution.

"Ramsey Fink! I saw that!" Daughtry's words startled the boy who had only just begun to retreat. Paladin Reese, the other one of the two aforementioned loyal soldiers, hoisted him into the air by his waistband.

"Where do you think you're going, little boy?"

"You've done it now Fink! Now you've done it!"

Taunted Paladin James Reese and Knight Doyle Samson respectively, through their Power Armor's external speakers.

"Let go Reese! Let go you brainless lackey!" Shouted the boy, whilst vainly struggling to free himself. Daughtry stepped towards the boy and spoke under the early sunlight.

"Ramsey. I know why you're angry at him, but -"

"At HIM? That's no _him!_ That thing's no better than any other rad-soaked beast!" The boy's eyes burned red from sour tears. His adolescent voice struggled to match his aged hearts intensity.

"Ramsey Fink, you will be silent and you will be civil, or I will have you digging holes with Hummingsworth for the next month. Have I been heard?"

"But Liona I..." The boy began revving up for another round but, perhaps after realizing the futility of his plight, elected to steady himself and surrender. "I apologize, Liona."

"As I was saying. I understand your anger, but with time you will come to understand, just as I have, that the mutants of the wasteland are their own enemies well before they become ours." She signaled for Paladin Reese to release the boy.

"You got off easy kid. Now go to your mother, will you?" As soon as Ramsey's boots hit the dirt, he turned and darted through the audience that had gathered during the public scolding. Liona briefly offered a contrite look to Roc and then began leading the party once more. Soon they arrived at a short bench placed in front of an old statue that stood in front of the base's main structure: The Steel Chapel. It was a colossal Castle/Chapel amalgamation complete with ramparts, pillars, and arching doorways leading to a portcullis gate. Standing at a closer proximity, Roc could truly admire the painstakingly crafted menagerie of colored windows. To Roc they looked to tell a story, although its characters, he did not recognize, and so the specifics of the narrative eluded him. At its pinnacle there were erected spires that bore blue Brotherhood banners whose cloth whipped aimlessly in the wind. Roc found himself once again awestruck by the forts majesty.

"Hm. Architecture." He remembered, turning and smiling at Liona, who was sitting alone at the bench.

"I thought you might like it. I've lived here for my entire teenage life, and I've never been able to simply walk by The Steel Chapel without recognizing and respecting its magnitude. We spoke on several occasions about the old world, and its relics; this one is undoubtedly my favorite."

"It is impressive to think that something this awesome could be built by the hands of _humans_. Uh…I…didn't mean to offend." He awkwardly took a seat next to Daughtry on the then instantly crowded bench.

"And you didn't. I too find it hard to picture a time when humans could productively work together in enough numbers and for enough time, not simply destruct one another's homes, but to instead construct something like The Steel Chapel. Today, here in Post-Apocalyptia, we spend far too much time focused on the petty squabbles of our day to day survival, and not enough time combining our efforts for the betterment of society. Which brings me to the real reason that I brought you here." She reached into one of the deeper pockets of her robe and removed a stout journal. She placed it onto her lap and began nervously tracing the scars in the leather binding with her forefinger's nail. "This journal, It was my mother's. Her name was Fiona Daughtry. I mentioned her to you in our first interview. I told you a little about her past, about her love for Leo." She paused to glance at Roc, who nodded to show that he recalled the story. "Well her and Leo, they had planned to accomplish a great deal in the wasteland, but when Uncle Leo was murdered, she lost her companion. And without him at her side she knew that she hardly stood a chance at creating change with the aid of Brotherhood idealists, who would rather gun down a mutant than try to save it. See that's when she started to shut everyone out, even me, and began chronicling everything down in her journal. All of her studies and scientific breakthroughs. All of her interviews in the beginning with Leo, her hopes, her dreams for the wasteland, for my future, everything. And in the end, her struggle must have been too much to bear alone, I…I could have, but she… She chose to be alone and it killed her. But the information that she left for me in this book, is the key, Roc. I know you've been through hell, I know you have. But once, you too were a human. You were a part of all of this, and if you want to, you can be again. All I ask, is that you help me accomplish what my mother could not." The teenage scribe, whose normal disposition was a rather stoic one, now looked up at the hulking figure to her left with tears dripping from her nose. "Roc I need -"

"I'll help you, Liona. I don't remember what it was like to be one of you, though sometimes I still have fleeting feelings that I am not entirely what I appear to be. In my life as Roc, I did terrible things to your kind, and even though I harbor his memories, I am not Roc anymore. I'll help you Liona Daughtry, but I need you to do one thing for me in return."

"Anything."

"Call me Rocky."


	4. Chapter 4 - Intrepid Squad

**Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia Ch. 4 - Intrepid Squad**

\+ Traversing the roads of a post Great War world is not an easy thing to do – At least, that's what Knight Captain Ryan Dutch had repeatedly tried to explained to his superiors at Richmond HQ in an effort to persuade them towards any course of action that didn't involve sending he and his crew of 3 soldiers all the way to the Carolines. They had only just gotten back from a resupply mission in the Commonwealth, before they were given new orders to resupply the BOS base dubbed Fort Duke to the south. Yet, as with most issues in the Brotherhood, once a commanding officer makes a decision, it's final. Dutch's team was a loyal one, however, and so the orders were received with mere groans, swears, and reluctant gear-packing, as opposed to open insubordination. After a few short hours of prepping for the trip they boarded a vertibird due south. The vertibird's Lancer Pilot told Cpt. Dutch that the furthest he was permitted to go was to the Virginia/Carolines border, after which he and his team would have to make the remaining 50 miles of the trip on foot. It wasn't standard, Dutch thought, although it wasn't completely unheard of either. The Brotherhood's forces being spread so far and wide meant that there were limited resources available, which included vertibird air time.

The crew of 4 slept through the 2 hour flight and awoke to an obnoxious red light and its accompanying siren signaling that they had landed. "Rise and Shine!" Yelled the Lancer pilot over his vertibird's dulled chopping. Knights Hutchison and Phillips were the first to enter their, respectively, blue and red accented T-60 power armor frames. As they stepped into the armor and extended their arms and legs through the hollow frame, the suit's open back clamped shut behind them and sealed itself, removing any chance for radiation poisoning to occur. Once they became acclimated to their expensive suits' interiors, they hoisted two 500-pound metal crates of cargo into the air and loaded them to one another's magnetically-charged backs for ease of transport. Dutch was the last to leave the vertibird, allowing him to give the pilot the signal to leave once he did. As the chopper pulled up and away, Cpt. Dutch couldn't help but feel a little stranded; every direction he turned to, looked as barren and dilapidated as the last. His green T-51 power armor's heads up display was equipped with a map of the local area, which he used to mark the specific coordinates that he had been given. He signaled for the team to begin its march south, and the trek began. Dutch's second in command, Jennifer Shipley, who was unburdened of any cargo, dug into her side pack and retrieved her long-range radio. Dutch grinned when he heard the end of Roy Jones' "Butcher Pete" vibrate throughout the dusty afternoon air, and although he couldn't see her face through her yellow-striped T-45 power helmet, it didn't take x-ray vision to know she was smiling too. The two had long ago grown close from years spent traveling in each other's company, and consequently they trusted each other more than either one of them would've preferred. After an entire day's worth of walking, Dutch peeked at his HUD clock: midnight. He decided to call it a day, and the delivery outfit named Intrepid Squad made camp. They had made up a fair bit of ground during the day - nearly 15 miles - and Dutch was happy with their pace. At this rate they would reach the Fort in just two more days if they marched from dawn till dusk with minimal breaks. Sergeant Shipley lowered her radio's volume to a hum, hoping its soft tunes would help them all rest; they would need it.

\+ Rocky was confused. In truth, he had been in a rather perpetual state of confusion ever since his abduction and subsequent LEO procedure. He knew that once, perhaps not long ago, he was a man named Rocky, and he knew that somehow Rocky had likely been captured and transformed into a super mutant. But that's all he knew; just a name, and a vaguely implicated history. He didn't know if he belonged here with the Brotherhood and Liona, back at Warrenton amongst Boston's mutants, or elsewhere in the wastes, in some place that he couldn't remember, where perhaps there was a family that missed him or property of his own to tend to. Regardless, he decided, it didn't really matter at this point, for he wasn't Roc the super mutant or the man that preceded him. He was just Rocky.

During the daytime he was given leave by Liona's request to wander throughout the Fort Duke courtyard and even enter many of its stone buildings, so long as, by Elder Cyrus' request, he be closely monitored and followed by a high ranking Knight. The Brotherhood citizens he met usually showed extreme trepidation even while discussing what he saw as trivial matters. One such interaction occurred when he spoke to the Botany scribes and inquired as to exactly how they were able to grow so many diverse plants in such a stale climate. The eldest one of them, a woman somewhere in her mid-fifties whose scowl served to age her severely, had ignored him and called away her younger scribes, warning them to stay away from the mutant for fear of his disagreeable appetite. Irritated and bored, Rocky wandered on, hoping to find someone who would be willing to talk to him, until eventually he did.

"They're afraid of you. You know that, right?" Called a familiar voice from behind him. It was Paladin James Reese, whom Rocky still had yet to see outside of his gilded and caped armor. It reminded him of why super mutants called the Brotherhood soldiers, 'Metal Men'. Rocky surmised that he must have been the Soldier assigned to him.

"Yes. I know." Answered Rocky, returning the Paladin's stare.

"Well I'm not. Do you know that too, Mutey? I suppose I should be, considering how many of my brothers you've probably killed - eaten even - but I'm not." Even distorted through his helmets electronic speakers, Rocky could feel the soldier's pain lightly veiled behind his words intended hostility. Perhaps he was right, Rocky thought. Perhaps he had, in another life, killed Reese's siblings in arms.

"I understand your pain, Paladin. It's true. I have killed many of your kind in the past." Rocky attempted to apologize.

"Is that a goddamn threat, mutey?" Reece pressed his rifle's barrel into Rocky's stomach.

"It wasn't a threat. I truly am sorry." Rocky insisted. The Paladin removed his rifle from Rocky's gut, and gave him a 'keep it moving' sort of nod.

Wherever he went thereafter he could feel Paladin Reese's palpable animosity trailing closely behind him. He wandered on for a bit longer but, as day light tends to do, it eventually surrendered to nightfall and Rocky retired along with it to his now more hospitable domicile.

Since his discussion with Daughtry outside of the Steel Chapel, Rocky's living conditions had changed for the better. Firstly, he had been given a much larger bed, the largest that Liona could find in the entire base, in fact. It nearly fit his whole body too, except for his ogre-like feet which hung off the side. Additionally his lights turned off and on with the flick of a switch, which he found to be a welcome change, and he had even been given a new change of clothes: an 8XL white t-shirt that fit him snug and a pair of long black jeans. Try as she did, Liona couldn't find any shoes that fit him, but Rocky didn't mind wearing his old brown leather boots. For a prisoner, he was actually pretty cozy. Liona hated it when he called himself that: a prisoner. He had asked her once, "What am I if I can't even leave my room without an armed soldier following my every step?" To this, she had no reply. If he were being honest though, it didn't particularly bother him, at least not how he knew it should. He knew that to be confined and stripped of one's free will is a generally undesirable circumstance, but as he didn't know what he would do nor what would become of him had he escaped back into the wastes, it was strangely comforting knowing that someone wanted him somewhere, regardless of their reasons.

He was about to attempt his most favorite pastime (sleep) when he heard Liona's trademark knock at his door. Before he had a chance to answer it, the curly-haired scribe came bursting into the room.

"Rocky, hi I…I should have waited for you to open the door. I'm sorry but I…" She seemed to be almost out of breath.

"You don't need to apologize, Liona. What is it?" He could see that she was struggling to conceal something rather large behind her slim profile.

"I was going to say, I…Well just look for yourself." She tossed a jacket through the air and onto his lap. Rocky gathered it in front of himself to get a better look.

"So…What do you think?" It was a sleeveless jacket, stitched together from many smaller pieces of jean clothing. Some parts were black, others ranged from light to navy blue, and in the center of the back was a perfectly circular piece of white cloth. He thumbed over the few dark depressions in the circle; they reminded him of something, although he couldn't remember exactly what. "Those are craters." explained Daughtry, who had noticed his curiosity. "That's the moon. Uncle Leo sort of had a fascination with it. That was his jacket. I remember him telling my mom how he wished he had something as wonderful as the moon to give her in return for the kindness she showed him. He was kind of corny like that, ha-ha. On the day of his one year anniversary here with us, she stitched that jacket together and gave it to him as a present. Come on, try it on." She smiled briefly, as she commonly did, while Rocky slipped into the jacket with surprising ease. "See, it fits perfectly…" After a moment without a reply she began to worry. "What's wrong? Do you hate it? You hate it don't you."

"No, Liona, it's great - perfect - it's just…" Daughtry's brow furled while the scientist in her tried to diagnose the issue. "The other day, when you first brought me into the court yard, a small girl ran up to me. She smiled at me, and called me 'Uncle Leo'. I smiled back, because her being happy to see me made me feel good, but, I knew that I was not who she thought I was. Liona, I'm not Leo." Rocky removed the jacket and laid it beside himself on the bed. Daughtry quickly recollected it.

"No one said you had to be, Rocky. I…I get how you must feel. Me telling you all of these things about my mom, the scribe, and her friend, the super mutant. About how they planned to save the wasteland. That's a little too much pressure for anyone, let alone someone in your situation. It's just that I've waited such a _long_ damn time for someone like you to find their way here. And I know that there's a lot of good that we can do together, Rocky… You don't even have to be my friend if you don't want to." The scribe smiled at her own joke.

"It's a bit too late for that, I think. Thank you for the jacket, Liona. This means a lot to me." He reacquired the jacket from Liona and slipped back into it. "So… How do I look?"

"You look…like a giant green man wearing a jacket. I'll see you tomorrow Leo- I mean, Rocky." Rocky smirked away a chuckled as she left the room. He turned off the lights, removed his clothes, and finally was able to partake in his favorite pastime: Sleep.

\+ Intrepid Squad had hit the road before sunrise, hoping to get a head start on the day. The trip had been a tiring one, consisting of two and a half days of constant marching, punctuated with a few brief breaks for meals and other necessities.

"Time?"

"You're really gonna start with the whole 'are we there yet?' bit, Jen?"

"Dutch. The time?" Shipley pressed. He looked at his HUD coordinates and noted the time to destination.

"We're about 5 hours away."

"Oh shit, that's a new record, gotta be, Ha-ha!" Announced Hutchison, nearly toppling over during his excitement.

"Yeah, even that pretentious mole-rat Cyrus will have to toss a few extra caps our way this time." yelled Phillips from the rear of the formation.

"We'll be lucky if that asshole even receives us this time. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever even seen the guy. Not in the half a dozen times Dutch and I've done this trip." Countered Jenny.

"Whatever man, I just want to sleep in a bed tonight, and maybe get some mirelurk soup from Chef's Commissary."

"Shit, you've got that right, Phillips. That's the one way that they've got the Richmond HQ beat. That Holtsman dude sure knows how to cook an irradiated beast up right." Hutchison agreed.

"Wait, hold up you guys." Shipley stopped in the middle of the formation. "The radio's picking up a new signal…I think it's that bat-shit radio girl we heard last time. Let me turn it up." The group loosely huddled around to listen to the portable radio.

"Hello gals and pals! It's Anonymous Valley Chey here, and in case you're wondering, the answer's yes: I do know that stating my given name just after claiming anonymity is a direct contradiction, but hey, it's my show so shush the hell up. Anywho… I've got some news people. News people. News, what a weird word. Neewwwss. I wonder how many times I've said that line. 'I've got some news people. I've got some news. Ha-ha, aww geez. I've gotta be losing listeners by the second. Right, the news. It seems that the ongoing hostilities between our foreign guests have apparently, ceased. Yeah seriously, like, I promise. The big green ugly dudes and the blue tin-can lookalikes have stopped killing each other. My sources tell me, and by my sources I mean my highly-experienced and finely-tuned feminine intuition, that there's some kind of truce thingy going on. Truce. Truuuce. That's another weird one! Yeah so with that soliloquy out of the way, I leave you with this: The Ink Spots' "I don't want to set the world on fire". Little late for that, isn't it?"

"Now that chick, is crazy." Decided Hutchison, with a chuckle.

"Oh, I love this one! Turn it up!"

"Hey skipper, did she just say 'Truce'? Between the mutants and the Brotherhood?" Shipley asked, ignoring Phillips' request.

"I haven't heard anything about it. Not that brass would bother telling me anything so important to begin with." Replied Dutch.

"You don't think that Elder Cyrus would broker a truce with…mutants, do you? Is that even possible?" asked Jenni.

"Guys, I mean, she's obviously just an overly eccentric radio host. Don't you think it's possible that she's just saying ludicrous things on the radio for ratings, or something?"

"'Eccentric' 'Ludicrous'…Raymond, where in the hell are you from, saying shit like that? You grew up in Megaton just like I did. Stop talking like a Tenpenny Tower soundin' mother fucker."

"Oh, I'm sorry that my vocabulary consists of more intelligent words then 'shit', 'fuck', and 'balls' Mike! Why don't you try reading a prewar book sometime? Y'know, the big ones without all of the pretty pictures!"

"Cut the chatter you two. The adults are trying to have a conversation." Snapped Sgt. Shipley, who easily outranked the two knuckleheaded Knights.

"I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound good. There's no way that Elder Maxson, or any Elder from the commonwealth to the pacific for that matter, would give the okay for something like that."

"And even if they did, what could they possibly have to offer the Brotherhood? It just doesn't add up." Jenni Concluded.

"Uhh, guys. Is that our ride?" The group collectively followed Phillips' extended index finger. At the end of it they saw a Brotherhood vertibird heading right for them.

"What the hell…" Dutch whispered.

"I could cry. No more walking!" Hutchison yelled. The vertibird quickly decelerated and perched atop its protruding landing gear. Through its open sides they spotted a tall slender woman leaning out of it while holding the handle of the vertibird's 50mm mini-gun.

"Hello. Are you the Richmond HQ's dispatch team? Sent to deliver two 500 pound crates of supplies to Fort Duke?" Her voice struck Dutch as odd. Not the tone of it, but rather it was the way she talked. Da-liv-uh. She didn't pronounce her Rs correctly, Dutch thought.

"Yeah, we're Intrepid Squad. Who are you? Did you come from Fort Duke?" Replied Jennifer, while Dutch was lost in thought.

"Yes! We've come to make your lives a little bit easier." E-zee-uh, Dutch sounded out phonetically. "Please begin loading your gear and the cargo so that we can make our departure." Jenni turned to Dutch for an answer, but before he said anything Phillips and Hutchison had already begun loading the cargo along with their power armor suits into the Vertibird's cabin. Although he didn't recognize the woman's accent, she did fly in on a Brotherhood vertibird. And they were close enough to the base that it did make sense for them to send a vertibird, but if they had, why hadn't Shipley been alerted via long-distance radio? Dutch flashed Shipley a nearly imperceptible hand gesture, and they walked up to the downed bird.

"Where'd you get such an odd accent from? I've never heard anything like it." The leader of Intrepid squad asked.

"I've been all over the east coast, sir. Grew up in the north, near Big City." Dutch glanced over her shoulder catching a glimpse of the co-pilot's wrinkled face under his helmet.

"Yeah? I've been there too. And who are you, I didn't know they let Lancers fly at such an advanced age." The pilot stayed facing the windshield, ignoring Dutch.

"Sorry sir, Cliff's not much of a talker. But I assure you he has his pilot's license just like the rest of us." Dutch looked back at Shipley who stepped away from the vertibird and reached for her laser pistol.

"Lancer pilots don't receive a license. But of course you don't know that. Because you're not a lancer pilot." The woman smiled, but just as she began to look as if she wanted speak, her facial expression switched to that of a grimace as she swung the mini-gun's heavy metal barrels into Dutch's armor. To her astonishment, the massive weapon merely bounced off of the retro-futuristic power suit without leaving a dent. He grabbed the false pilot and tossed her at Phillips and Hutchison who struggled, but eventually subdued the frantic woman. The female pilot withdrew her pistol and aimed it at the unarmored duo of Knights in the vertibird. Shipley, who had been eying the cockpit since the start of the exchange, was far quicker and better practiced on the draw. She sent a sizzling red laser straight through the female pilot's helmet.

"Marci!" Shouted the first pilot who attempted in vain to free herself of Hutchison and Phillips' grasp. The male pilot exhibited symptoms of a man consumed by shock and terror after seeing this. He whaled loudly before taking in shaking breaths. He placed his palm on the dead woman's exposed cheek, hoping with his everything that she would react to his touch.

"She drew on us. Don't try anything stupid old man." Shipley commanded.

Trembling down to his very core, he slid his hand down her arm to her fingers, and to the weapon they still held. "Clifton no!" The subdued faux pilot shouted just as the one she called for drew the pistol. With a sudden bang, his briefly experienced mourning was over; as was his life.

"Holy shit, dude." "That's just…that's just dark man." Hutchison and Phillips agreed.

"I had to do it, she…she was going to shoot. I know she was." Shipley explained as confidently as she could.

"Alright, alright. Enough. That's not important right now." Dutch ordered. "What is important, is this: Who are you, and how in the hell did you get your hands on a Brotherhood vertibird?"

\+ Wasteland nights always seem to be a bit longer than their bright counterparts, like they're being drawn out somehow. As if whatever malevolent deity who had long ago decided to scorch the earth's surface and mutate its inhabitants, now seeks to render it even more treacherous by postponing the perceived safety of daylight. But if daylight is a shepherd's guiding hand, then that makes night's bleak darkness a wolf pack's hunting ground. For be it an evil being or an innocent one, who hears a stray bump or an inexplicable screech in the night's distance, is it not towards that of their darkest fears where their minds stray? Towards the grotesque and the putrid: a Vampire, the Boogeyman? When in reality all that lurks behind them, silently stalking in the shadows, is a man. A Brotherhood Sentinel, in charge of an elite squad: The Cavaliers. The Boogeyman has no fear, for he has no peer. He is the scariest thing in the dark, and so he craves its cold caress.

– That was his speech, or rather his pitch, mailed in envelopes long ago to persuade any selected soldiers to join his Cavaliers division; a small yet specialized and efficient task force led by himself, Sentinel Darion Rockwell. He can remember spending far too much time writing, editing, and rewriting it again, until finally he arrived at what he thought was a decent and brief speech, with the right amount of compelling metaphors and prewar horror references. Despite this valiant effort, he knows of course that no amount of clever writing or moving speeches can save his men from what they intended to do tonight. As a Sentinel, a rank only surpassed by Elder Maxson himself, he's permitted to come and go with his Cavaliers as he pleases, and to lead covert missions throughout the D.C. area as he sees fit. In his short tenure he had already led several dozen missions ranging from data and technology recovery, to seek-and-destroy missions. The mission he planned for tonight was by far his team's favorite: mutant hunting. A newly formed mutant force said to have come from the north, had been kidnapping Capital Wasteland citizens from Tenpenny Tower all the way to Old Olney. Ironically, there were even reports of a few slavers from Paradise Falls being snatched and dragged off to become slaves themselves. As luck would have it, one of the many slaves managed to escape and make his way to the Brotherhood. Shortly after arriving and being given safe haven within the Citadel, he told a tale of a relatively small force of mutants who had managed to supplant the former inhabitants of Evergreen Mills; an entire army of raiders.

"They snuck into the raider camp and quote, 'tore their leader's head off in his sleep'. He claims that after the raiders awoke to see this they elected, or chose - however raider leaders are chosen - a new leader. He too was found dead, in his bed, without a head, the next morning. The camp of raiders, fearing for their lives, began slaughtering one another out of shear paranoia. Soon they had cut their own numbers down to half of what they were, leaving them vulnerable to an attack. And that's when the mutants struck." Sentinel Darion spoke to his second in command, and trusted advisor. A former Knight who now titled, First Cavalier James Reese.

"Doesn't that seem a bit too clever of a strategy to be have been devised by a bunch of green uglies, Sentinel? Ghouls sure, but not mutants." Reese replied.

"I know. It doesn't make much sense. But what's bothering me is how this slave came to know any of this in the first place. Perhaps he was a raider there and was imprisoned, as the mutants so often prefer to do as opposed to killing outright."

"Well, he's clearly lyin' sir, or at the very least he's exaggerating significantly. Probably in the hopes that we would hear of such dangerous and intelligent mutants and come running to save his friends. Just like those damn wannabe aristocrats over at Rivet City tried to pull on us that one time, remember? The muteys probably just came in force one day and wiped out the raiders there, just like they've done a hundred times before." Reese seemed convinced, but the runaway's story still clung to Sentinel Darion's mind, nagging him and trying to defend its legitimacy.

"He says the camp of mutants has grown slightly but still remains relatively small. I need you to issue orders for the Cavaliers to prepare for a night op. We will attack with our own force tonight, and we'll see exactly how formidable these mutants truly are." Darion smirked cheekily at Reese who returned it along with a chest salute.

"Ad Victoriam, Sentinel."

"Ad Victoriam, First Cavalier."

Rocky's eyes opened suddenly. It was not from fear, but from his first and completely foreign sense of nostalgia, that he began breathing heavily. He felt as though he was out of place in his own room, and for the first time that he could remember, he wanted to cry. He had been so happy for a while during his dream, so full of purpose and belonging. His overwhelming melancholy was interrupted by Liona once again knocking at his door. "Liona" as he spoke she walked into the bedroom seeming much calmer than she had been during her last visit.

"Rocky, good morning. How are you?" She didn't know it, but her presence served to soothe him.

"Good morning, Liona."

"You don't look so hot, Rocky. Are you feeling alright? I'm sure I could get Head Scribe Rourke from the infirmary to come take a look at you." Rocky thought for a moment of sharing his dream with Liona, he wanted her to understand the way he felt, but he wasn't even completely sure that he knew how he felt yet.

"No. I'm fine. It's just…I just woke up, is all." He lied.

"Ok, whatever you say. Anyway, I know it's early but I need you to take a walk with me. Someone has requested your acquaintance."

"Someone, who?" Rocky was curious, as he hadn't spent much time with anyone other than Liona, unless Paladin Reese's stalking counted as quality time. The Scribe didn't answer, she just walked out of the room to wait for Rocky to get dressed. He lazily slid into his jeans, his boots, his t-shirt, and finally Leo's Jacket. When he left the room, he realized that Liona had been unaccompanied by any Knights, which he took as a good sign; perhaps they were beginning to trust him after all. She led him out of the barracks building, through the courtyard, and to the Steel Chapel. Before they entered through the open portcullis gate, she stopped and turned to face Rocky.

"Don't speak, until he speaks to you. And when you do speak, be sure not to give him any reason to doubt your rehabilitation. The Elder has been a staunch supporter of the LEO program ever since the beginning, but that won't stop him from ending it as soon as he sees reason to do so. And remember, this is a man who has been fighting Super Mutants his entire life. If it seems like he doesn't like you, that's because he doesn't. But even he came around to Uncle Leo, so there's at least a little hope there." Rocky nodded and they began the long walk through the spacious interior of the Steel Chapel. Half of the room's original seating had been ripped out, and replaced with stations for Brotherhood Scribes and Knights to perform both civilian and military tasks simultaneously. To his immediate right and through one of the many open station entrances, Rocky saw a smithy tinkering with a broken plasma rifle and a box of spare parts. In an adjacent cubicle there were several scribes arguing while pointing at miscellaneous pieces of paper and various pre-war text books. Further along and to his left he saw a class room full of young, homogenously dressed children working diligently on reconstructing a protectron robot while a yellow robed Scribe, their teacher he assumed, silently hovered over them and observed their work. The entirety of the building was illuminated by a dozen magnificent chandeliers, hanging from a ceiling that was so high up that Rocky couldn't see where they were attached. At once he became all too aware that he had been walking through the chapel for what seemed like an exorbitant amount of time. He looked over Daughtry's head to the front of the room, which still seemed far, and saw a narrow grandly designed room perched at the top of a brief staircase. After a bit more walking they eventually scaled the stairs and halted before a man in his fifties, who was dressed in a robe much like Liona's except it was blue in color, and heavily armored, complete with a set of steel pauldrons. His robe was cut short at the knee, where a pair of dark leather pants and boots could be seen. He noticed their approach and rose from his throne and desk, where he looked to be typing a long-winded letter. "Greetings Senior Scribe Daughtry."

"Greetings, Elder Cyrus. This Is -"

"This must be the most talked about mutant in all of the Carolines." He interrupted. "I know all about you. I was told a while ago that your name was Roc, but I hear you now prefer to be called Rocky. While I must say, I do approve of the new name, I find that a man's- or a being's, actions tend to carry far more weight than do his preferred name or title. Don't you agree, Rocky?" Asked Elder Cyrus, staring directly passed Liona, at Rocky.

"If names and titles are purely a form of vanity, and therefore not to be relied upon for judging someone's character, than why do you accept the prestigious title of 'Elder', and demand that you be addressed as such by your subordinates? No, I think that there is plenty of weight to be found in the names and titles that we give ourselves, Elder Cyrus." Rocky volleyed back to the clearly stunned Elder. Liona was beginning to say something, perhaps to refocus the conversation, when Elder Cyrus spoke up.

"Oh Liona, you have outdone yourself with this one! Did you teach him all of that yourself?"

"No I didn't Elder. The LEO procedure simply restores a super mutant's mind slowly back to that of a humans. Specifically, the human they once were."

"Well then, he must have been an ornery one back in his time, huh? I like him. You see Rocky, I spent my entire life up until the age of 49, thinking that all super mutants were just giant green dummies, made for nothing more than target practice." The Elder slowly began walking towards Rocky. "Until about 6 years ago, when I met one that truly amazed me. A former man turned mutant, who taught me about the strength of your species. I've no doubt that Liona's told you all about Leo. He was a spectacular asset to the Brotherhood, and it was a tragedy what happened to him. Now all I want to know is if you too can be a spectacular asset, Rocky. 'Cuz I'd very much like it if you could be." The Elder and Rocky stood in front of one another. The Elder was a relatively tall man, standing well above six feet, yet even he was comically short in comparison to Rocky. Rocky noticed the Elders eyes begin to trail away from his own, peering passed his shoulder and towards the entrance. Rocky turned around to see what had caught Cyrus' eye. Quickly approaching was Paladin James Reese, followed closely by a band of Knights, escorting a lonely prisoner. They stopped before the staircase, and Reese spoke.

"Elder Cyrus -" He offered a chest solute. Cyrus did not return the gesture.

"What is the meaning of this, Paladin? Who are these soldiers?"

"Behind me, is the delivery squad named 'Intrepid', from the Richmond HQ. They were sent to deliver supplies to -"

"Elder Cyrus, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Knight Captain Ryan Dutch, the leader of Intrepid squad. We were about a day away from making our delivery, - we were making great time in fact - when this little faux Lancer outfit came flying in on a huge Brotherhood vertibird, telling us that they were sent to pick us up and bring us here. I quickly discovered the truth and we commandeered the bird, and brought her back here where we assume she belongs."

"And did you manage to bring the cargo here in one piece?" The Elder asked.

"Yes sir we did, thanks to Knights Phillips, Hutchison, and Sergeant Shipley here." Replied Dutch. Elder Cyrus walked down the stairs and right up to the prisoner.

"Who are you, sweetheart?" He asked.

"My names Agrippina, sir."

"'Suh'? That's an odd accent you've got young lady. Where are you from Agrippina?"

"Nowhere important mister." He turned his attention to the Knights.

"Do you know where she came from? Who she's working for, where she got the vertibird -anything?" Elder Cyrus asked Reese and Dutch.

"She won't say much, Elder." Replied Dutch.

"She may not be saying much, but I know that vertibird, Elder. It's a modified model. It's equipped with twin Gatling lasers instead of mini-guns at its sides, and its cabin is twice as large as a common bird's." Reese pointed out.

"Montecrief." The Elder huffed.

"Yessir. I believe so."

"Well, Lancer Captain Kellard will be happy to have her back. As for this one, you can take her to her new home. Don't worry Ms. Agrippina of Nowhere, it's got all of the amenities. A blanket, a bucket to shit in - it'll be just superb for you."

"Wait, Elder Cyrus." The Elder looked at Rocky. "What's a Montecrief?" Several of the Knights in Intrepid Squad stepped back and reached for their guns, now noticing the hulking mutant behind the Elder.

"He's a man, or, he was at one point. Now he's a ghoul who leads a gang of slavers. He's been as annoying as a cazador sting on the ass. He captured one of our vertibirds awhile back, and he's probably been using it to send his ghoulified slavers all over the Carolines in search of new towns to pillage and people to enslave." He turned back to the group of weary travelers and signaled for them to take the prisoner away.

"Hold on just a minute." Rocky scaled the stairs, stepping between the captive and the Elder. "I think she can be of immediate use. If she was hired by this Montecrief, then she must know where to find him. We could have her take us to him, and we could solve this matter today."

"I'm sorry, is that a super mutant talking right now?" whispered Knight Hutchison.

"This must be a part of the truce we heard about." Phillips whispered back.

"That's assuming the young lady will help us." Cyrus glared at the prisoner named Agrippina.

"For my freedom." The prisoner proposed without hesitation.

"Hmmm…It's a deal. But not today, Rocky. You'll go tomorrow with Paladin Reese and a couple of these Knights here and you'll take this thief with you. We'll call it your first mission as a Brotherhood of Steel soldier, and should you be successful, I'll name you and this thief here free. Sound good?"

"A Knight." Rocky answered.

"A Knight? Fine, you'll be named a Knight, why not."

"Why not? Elder Cyrus, he's an abomination! How could he -"

"For now Paladin, show Captain Dutch where he can leave his prisoner." Elder Cyrus walked back up the stairs to his throne room. "Oh, and Liona. Take our green friend here and find our young Quartermaster Heyward. I believe he has a couple of gifts for him. He should still be tinkering with his toys in the Foundry." The Elder returned to his steel throne and began typing on his terminal once again. The group of Knights marched away together, leaving Liona and Rocky alone.

"Well, that went well…I think. Follow me." Liona politely directed. She led Rocky all the way to the front gates where she turned left and into the Steel Chapel's first station: The Foundry. Inside, the man that Rocky had seen earlier tinkering with a plasma rifle was now nowhere to be seen.

"Hello…Dalton?" They could hear a loud rummaging noise coming from behind the steel island in the middle of the room. Trying her best to avoid all of the spilled nuts and bolts on the ground, Liona walked around the island where she spotted a hunched over figure pawing through several boxes of miscellaneous weapon components, and listening to a portable radio through homemade earphones. Liona stifled a giggle with the palm of her hand.

"DALTON!" She screamed. Her voice echoed out of the Foundry and up to the high ceilings of the chapel which were originally built to promote such vibrant acoustics. The thin yet surprisingly muscular smithy jolted suddenly banging his bandana covered head on the steel slab he used as a workspace. He tore off his headphones and scowled at the gleeful scribe.

"What the hell Liona! Why do you always…What the fucks a mutey doing here?!"

"Hush you tawdry tinkerer. Have you no manners?" Liona joked while barely attempting to keep a straight face as Dalton continued to rub his sore skull.

"I'm sorry. Wait, no, no I'm not. You come in here, to my place of work, and you, you scream like a maniac, you make me hit my head, and on top of it all, like right on top, you bring with you a giant green killer! So I ask again: what the fucks a mutey doing here!?"

"Jeez, calm down Dalton. You don't get out much do you? This is Rocky, and he's not just any giant green killer. He's my giant green killer. Now stop being so rude before I sick him on you!" Daughtry flashed Rocky a smile and a wink.

"He's, he's that new LEO mutant then huh. Yeah I know about him, Elder Cyrus told me you'd be needing your weapons cleaned and fixed. Sorry dude, I'm just not used to seeing…well, you know what I mean."

"It's fine Sergeant Dalton. All I care about is if you have my weapons or not." The short Knight's smile was just as rusty as his workshop, and the opportunity to show off the fruits of his labor prompted him to display it.

"One sec," He darted underneath his steel table, and continued talking from beneath it. "Cyrus gave me these a few weeks ago and I, well like I said I was only supposed to fix any damages they had on 'em and spruce 'em up a little, but I couldn't help myself. I had to fix 'em up Dalton style!"

"Oh god, please stop saying 'Dalton style'. You sound like such an imbecile." Liona said, ridiculing the Knight who was at least ten years her senior.

"What do you mean 'Dalton style'? Have they been upgraded?" Asked Rocky.

"'Have they been upgraded?' he asks. My good man— err…mutant I mean, that is only half of what I've done!" Liona shook her head and rolled her eyes in response to the goofy smith's theatrics. He finally rose from under his worktable and laid two items upon its surface: a leather sheathed cleaver, and a heavily modified battle rifle. "Feast your mutated eyes, Rocky! Unless you can actually eat with those things, in which case, don't dude. That's just gross."

"Dalton!" warned Liona, though Rocky simply laughed at the queer smith. He picked up the cleaver first and slowly withdrew it from its sheath. "Now that, is a beaut'. I spent awhile just getting the blood stains and grime off of the handle until after a while I just said, 'F it' and tore the old one off. I replaced it with a metal one which I coated in leather and stained so it's a bit sportier as you'll no doubt notice. As per usual for Dalton style blade refurbishes, I took the old one and reforged it myself by utilizing a pattern welding technique incorporating different kinds of steel and iron rolled on top of one another like one of those chocolate thingys with the cream in the middle of 'em, you know what I mean? Anyway, I even added a circular pommel so's you can smash craniums to your enlarged hearts content. Oh! I nearly forgot to mention the best part! Take that cleaver, and aim it head-first down yonder towards those target dummies." Rocky did as the blacksmith asked. "OK. Now pull the circular pommel backwards until you hear a click, then twist it clockwise." Rocky pulled the pommel ring back until it clicked. He turned it like a key until it would rotate no more. "OK. Now the fun part. Do you see that little button that just got uncovered at the top of the handle? Aim accordingly, and then press that bad boy." Rocky hovered his thumb over the button, aimed until he thought the blade was level with a dummy's head, and pressed it. The handle kicked back as the cleaver blade was propelled at bullet-speed towards and into the dummy. Connecting the handle to the blade was a long braided metal cord. Rocky guessed the next step, and pressed the button again. The blade came zooming back, cutting through the air until it found its way back into the handle just like a roll of retracting measuring tape. Rocky laughed at the impressive modification and turned to the smith to express his admiration.

"It's an absolute work of art, Sergeant." Rocky complimented.

"And the smiths head grew two sizes that day…"

"Shut up Liona, there's nothing I can do about the size of my head. It's genetic, you know that. Anyway, Rocky, as for the battle rifle, boy are you in for a treat! I refurbished all of the wooden furniture on it, I added a sling, an angled fore grip, and a couple of spare ammo pockets on the stock. As for optics, I threw away that cracked hunk of garbage you called a scope, and I mounted a green dot reflex sight. I even slapped on a laser sight of the same hue to boot." Rocky strapped the cleaver and its sheath around his waist. He then reached for the "Dalton Style" battle rifle. "Oops. One sec." Dalton snatched the rifle before Rocky could and removed the loaded clip with an audible "ding" sound. It shot out and onto the table. "Sorry, I was just testing it out earlier this week. Shoots armor piercers like a dream though!" 'A dream.' Rocky thought. He still hadn't told Liona about his dream. He hadn't told her about Darion Rockwell, the Cavaliers. He tucked away the thought for later and picked up the prewar battle rifle, with all of its post war modifications. He shouldered it and aimed it downrange.

"This feels…better. You enlarged the trigger guard as well, so it could actually fit my entire finger. That's a clever touch, Dalton. For a human, you're not such a terrible smith." Said Rocky.

"Uhh thanks, I guess. For a mutant, you're not so mean and scary." Dalton offered. Liona hopped down from the workbench she had been sitting on and headed for the entrance.

"Alright, let's go Rocky, before you two start liking each other or something."

"Later Liona! Later Rocky dude!" Dalton called after the departing duo.

They walked outside and soon found themselves sitting at their favorite bench.

"So. Knight Rocky. Where'd that come from?" Liona joked.

"I sort of had a dream this morning."

"A dream? What kind of dream?"

"The kind where you're convinced that it's real. That everyone in it is real and everything you see is really there. Almost like it was too real to be a dream, more like a memory."

"I think I know what you mean. What happened?"

"I was remembering a speech first. Maybe reciting it, or writing it I don't know. I wasn't me though, at least, not a super mutant. I was a human. I think I can remember my name now."

"You mean you're name's not Rocky?"

"Well, it could be that Rocky was a nickname or something, but no. I think my real name is Darion Rockwell. Have you ever heard of him?" Liona sat back in her seat and thought for a short moment.

"No, I don't think so. Is that all you can remember?"

"No I was…Sentinel. They called me Sentinel Darion Rockwell. I led a team of Brotherhood Knights called the Cavaliers. Paladin Reese served with me, as 1st Cavalier."

"The Cavaliers? I've only ever heard stories about them… Rocky, this is amazing! He'll be able to tell you everything! So that's why you wanted to be knighted." Liona remembered.

"If what I remember is true, then it's here where I belong. As a Knight."

"This reminds me. There's one more thing that I need to show you."

Rocky accompanied Liona on a long walk to her laboratory, and down its main hallway to the end. To the left of the room where he had been held in, there was another room just like it. Liona unlocked the door and walked in, and Rocky entered the room as the lights turned on. Inside, through a glass window, he saw a familiar trio of mutated faces staring back at him.

"Cerberus!"

"When you first came-to after the procedure, you asked me, 'Where's Cerberus?'. At the time, we didn't know this creature's name, so I had no idea what you were talking about. We found it just before we picked you -"

"I want to see them." Rocky interrupted.

"Rocky… I don't think that's a good idea. You may have been rehabilitated, but they're still just mindless beasts."

"Liona. They're loyal hounds. They've been at my side ever since Roc's first memory. Cerberus never liked hurting anyone, or anything. They wouldn't harm a molerat unless it had my throat in between its teeth. I'll protect you, I swear." Liona knew that she shouldn't release the hounds, but despite her best judgment she walked to the glass door and entered the passcode into the terminal anyway. She then ran back to the entrance, and took cover behind Rocky's massive frame. The three-headed hound head-butted its way through the released door and blitzed Rocky. They tackled him to the ground and bombarded him with licks from all directions. Liona, beginning to relax a little, reached a tentative hand out towards the hounds. Rocky stood and wrapped Liona in his arms to show she was a friend. Cerberus's triplet heads sniffed her for only a moment before giving her hand the same treatment they had given Rocky's face.

"They're…kind of sweet." She said.

"They are the only thing from Roc's life that I cherish. The only thing of beauty he ever encountered."

"Aww, I didn't know you were such a romantic, Rocky!" Rocky's dark green pigmentation was enough to hide his blushing from Liona, and he was thankful for that. They played with Cerberus for a while longer, before eventually saying their goodbyes and locking him back up. Before they departed, Liona told Rocky to get some sleep and to meet her at the Steel Chapel in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5 - Montecrief House

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 5 - Montecrief House**

\+ To have been an unarmed traveling merchant in Post-Apocalyptia is to have been a dead merchant - and all of the opportunistic raiders of the wasteland knew it. Admittedly, such pacifism is made considerably less erroneous when the same unarmed merchant has hired a couple of guards strapped with 5.56 caliber assault rifles; but what happens to the merchant when one of her hired guards, standing just a few feet away from the other, lays foot on a bottle-cap mine? That's the question Stimgee the brigand and his companions of the same ilk were wondering just as they saw the scene unfold from their hiding place on the side of the road whereon the mine lay. They sat still watching from the inside of an old world bus as the mine detonated, completely relieving the guards of both their duty, and their lower limbs. The brigand trio took in the spectacle with mouths agape and with eyes firmly squinted from cheeky smirks, as blood painted the road and what was left of the guards flew up high into the air. The concussive force knocked over the pack Brahmin, and with an enormous load of valuable tradables tied to its back, the dual-headed beast found it impossible to get back to its hooves. The merchant, slowly realizing the treacherous situation she had unknowingly walked into, awoke from her shock induced stupor and darted back down the road from where she came. Compelled by a euphoric state that could only follow such a successful trap, two of the raiders began the victory parade out of the bus and onto the street where they danced around the pack Brahmin whilst screaming a litany of profanities. The third raider, a man whose face was shrouded by a tattered and hooded cape, peeled away from the others. He walked further down the road, and took aim in the direction where the merchant had ran.

"She's getting awayyy." Stimgee taunted, after noticing the sniper take aim.

"Trust me, Stimgee. I've got her." The hunter promised, whilst fiddling with the scope of his Syringer rifle.

"I would have just tossed a grenade and been done with it. But that's just me, Sweety."

"Ha-ha! Sweety!" Laughed the third.

"Yes that is just you, and you would have blown her Pip-Boy to bits." Stimgee put his hands above his head and backed away from 'Sweety' letting him focus. He placed his palms behind his head and waited for- there it was. Stimgee and his stout friend looked from behind either side of the sniper to see where his shot had landed. The raider named Sweety had let loose a perfect shot into the merchants back, just between her shoulder blades.

"Good one Sweety! Ha-ha-ha!"

"Fuck off Westman… I'll go get the Pip-Boy." Said the raider, whose real-fake name was Sweetheart.

"Don't be too long, Sweety!" Stimgee prodded. Sweetheart offered a common pre-war gesture to them, which was unsurprisingly just as commonly used in the days that came post-war. As he drew near to the crawling merchant, he noted the bulky device attached to her left forearm. In order to get a better look at it, he knelt down beside her and pulled off his hood, revealing a completely bald head. With sweat dripping down his hairless brows, he rolled the merchant over, pulled her arm close to his face, and began yanking on the device.

"What-(Cough)-are you doing?" She whispered.

"Looking for a latch or something… How do you even get this damn thing off?" The merchant smiled and spit a dark loogie onto the ground. "Oh, this is funny then, huh? Look I need to get this thing off of you before those assholes come looking for me." Sweetheart explained.

"That sounds like a-(cough)-personal problem to me." The merchant decided with a strained chuckle.

"Look. I'm not going to hurt you. At least, not any more than I already have. My moronic companions however…well they're liable to do just about anything to get this thing off of you."

"Fuck you… I'm fucking dead. I'm fucking dying you ass. All for some shitty scrap metal." The merchant tugged her arm out of Sweetheart's hand. He grabbed her arm again and continued toying with the device, searching for a way to remove it.

"Would you relax already? You're not dying. I only hit you with a modest dose of lock-joint syringe. You're going to be paralyzed for a few minutes, and your back will probably hurt like hell for the next few days, but besides that, you're gonna be fine. It's just so that you look dead until those guys leave." Sweetheart explained to the merchant. "But before any of that happens, I need you to tell me how to get this fuckin' thing off!"

"It won't…come off. Not until I…" The merchant's words evaporated into a sigh, and her body remained completely still. Suddenly the device decompressed, loosening its grip on the merchants arm.

"Woah, never mind. I think I've got it." He forced the device open and removed it from the frozen woman's arm. The raider rolled up his jacket sleeve, and placed the device on top of his arm but was disheartened to realize he was just as clueless on how to attach it as he was removing it. "Damnit, I'm terrible with these things… Hey, how do I -" Sweetheart noticed the woman's eyes staring blankly into the young sky. "Fuck. You better not be faking lady." He kicked her leg - no response. "Fuck." He concluded. He pressed her eyes shut to protect them from the sun and wind, then he cursed at her motionless body for not being more cooperative. He struggled with the wearable device for a couple minutes, until he heard two sets of footsteps approaching from up the road. "Any luck, Sweety?" Asked Westman, now standing a few yards behind Sweetheart.

"The brahmin had nothing but goddamn scrap metal!" Shouted Stimgee.

"Did she have it?" Asked Westman.

"What's that there?" Stimgee pointed a twitchy finger at Sweethearts arm.

"What's what where?" Asked Sweetheart, still trying to attach the device to his arm.

"Don't get cute, Sweetheart. What do you have on your arm? Is that the Pip-thingy Alabaster wanted?" Stimgee pressed.

"I think so, yeah." Sweetheart admitted.

"Lemme try it on. I'm sure I can get it to work." Stimgee began walking towards Sweetheart.

"No. No I don't think so Stim, I know you too well. If I let you 'try it on' I'll never get the damn thing back. Not unless I kill you, of course."

"Would you two shut the fuck up? The Pip-Boy isn't for either of you. Alabaster says it's for a client. Some collector's paying him a whole lotta caps for that thing."

"Yeah, exactly Westman. They're paying _him._ And what do we get for our trouble? Some scrap metal? Forget that shit. Consider this my resignation." Sweetheart declared.

"I bet you think you could too. Don't you, Sweet."

"Bet I could what? What the fuck are you talking about Stimgee?" Sweetheart still hadn't looked up from the device.

"You think that if I took that thingy away from you, that you could kill me and take it right on back, don't you?" Stimgee's eyes grew darker than Sweetheart had ever seen them. There was silence for a few beats, as Stimgee awaited a response from Sweetheart, who was far too preoccupied with his new toy to care at the moment. Finally, Sweetheart removed the device and twisted it around to its intended position. He clamped the 'C' shaped device together forming an 'O' around his arm, after which a loud locking mechanism performed its job with an audible *shink* sound. At last, Sweetheart looked up to address his furious former partner.

"Yeah, Stim. Yes I do." It wasn't hard for him to match Stimgee's intensity. Despite his light hearted demeanor, Sweetheart always looked as if he had either just been in a fight, or was about to start one.

"Man I told Alabaster this shit wouldn't work with him! I knew he was too green. I knew it man, I knew it!" Westman remembered.

"What do you think Alabaster'll do when I tell him what happened here, Sweet. About how you took such an interesting bit of technology for yourself? You think this shit'll fly? We'll send as many as we need to till we get you, and when we got you it won't be quick. Do you hear me!?"

"I can make it quick for you two now, if you'd like. Just say when." Sweetheart withdrew his switchblade from his pocket, and flicked its blade open. Stimgee, who never could handle an implicit threat let alone an explicit one, reached for his knife as well. He pulled it out of his pants and stabbed it towards Sweetheart's throat. Sweetheart leaned away from the sudden attack. He thrusted his switch blade violently into the air aiming at Stimgee's extending hand, when a red light flashed between them. Sweetheart's blade thrust was true, but he only managed to pierce the air between himself and Stimgee. The two raiders looked with stunned eyes at where Stimgee's blade used to be. The blade itself was completely disintegrated…along with Stimgee's entire hand. The raider screamed and began flailing his arm around wildly, cursing the hills around him for concealing the laser sniper's position. Sweetheart took a laser to the backside, and fell prone immediately; he was hoping to avoid being turned into a steaming pile of dust next. A second later more red streaks zoomed across the sky, landing at the feet of Westman and Stimgee. Westman traced the lasers back to a group of armored shooters in the hills.

"Fuck! It's an ambush!" Westman cried, helping Stimgee to his feet.

"They shot my fucking hand, West!"

"They're gonna shoot our fucking heads if we don't get the hell outta here, Stim!" The two raiders hightailed it up the road narrowly avoiding the bolts of red heat that scorched the pavement behind their steps. As soon as they were out of sight, the shooting stopped. Sweetheart waited for his heartbeat to return to close to normal, and once it did he began rising slowly. On either side of the road, in the barren hills, he saw nothing. No soldiers, no lasers, no nothing. He stumbled to his feet, grimacing and grunting as he did. The unnatural hole left in his gluteus maximus had seared its way a half an inch deep inside of him. Luckily, the self-cauterizing nature of a laser bolt prevented the wound from bleeding profusely.

"Don't worry waster, we don't want your life. For now all we want is what you have on your arm." An augmented voice declared from behind him. Sweetheart pocketed his blade, raised his hands, and whispered:

"Shit…my ass hurts."

\+ For the super mutants living in the Warrenton mutant camp, every meal was a feast. Had any of them besides Boston known the definition of the word 'Glutton', they would have surely considered it a compliment. As a result, feeding a large clan of such massive creatures could be considered a daunting task - but not for Girder. Girder was the Chef of the Warrenton mutant camp and as such was respected and loved by all of the super mutants, garnering only slightly less respect than Boston himself, in fact. 'He can take rotten radstag genitals and make them taste like Brahmin steak.' - Boston once said of Girder, who wore nothing but a half burnt apron, a chef's hat, and a pair of boxers with little rubber duckies swimming across baby blue cloth. Chop, being the camps most veracious eater, frequented Girders outdoor kitchen, always wondering what was next on the menu.

"What you cook today Girder? Mirelurk? Human?" Asked Chop.

"Radroaches, and Blood Bugs." Replied the Chef, who was turning a rotisserie of bug meat over an open fire.

"What? Not again, Girder! Why no real meat? Why no humans meat?!"

"New meat man are no good. Blame Roc and Brand for dying."

"No more humans? Nooo! I need more meat, Girder!" Chop whined. Girder continued spinning what little meat he did have while trying to ignore Chops complaints. Suddenly there was a thunderous rumble coming from the earth. The intermittent vibrations were so violent that the stones around the fire were displaced, and a blood bug fell into the fire. Girder looked at Chop.

"Stompey?" They said simultaneously. Chop ran to the gates and clambered up the side of the front watchtower. He shoved the smaller guard mutant out of his way, and looked out into the wastes. The waning sunlight was impairing his vision, so he held his giant green hands over his eyes, and looked as far as he could. The light began to dull as a dark shadow appeared below it. It grew and grew until a gigantic figure formed from the shadow, partially obscuring the sunset. "Stompey!" Chop leaped from the guard tower, stuck the landing, and sprinted up the steep hill to his master's tent. He didn't bother announcing his presence before entering.

"Boston! He's back!" Chop said with what little breath he had left.

"Who Chop? Who's back?" Asked Boston, standing up from his desk chair.

"Stompey! Stompey's back! Heard stomps, so look from high place and seen him coming!" Chop led Boston out of the tent, down the steep hill, and to the front gates where Stompey had already begun to make his presence known. Over the 30 foot tall camp gates, Chop and Boston saw Stompey chewing the limbs off of a much smaller super mutant. After he finished most of his snack, he discarded the carcass at Boston's feet.

"Stompey want in."

"Yes Chop. Stompey wants in. You -" Boston pointed at a random mutant. "-replace this one at the guard tower. Let Stompey in."

"Boston, me don't think -"

"Yes I know. You don't think. I do your thinking for you remember? Now go." The mutant was hesitant; listening to Boston's orders meant dealing with Stompey, and disobeying them meant dealing with Chop. Before Chop could ask to 'chop him up' however, he obeyed reluctantly and with help from the other gate keeper he lifted the gate for Stompey. Stompey ducked beneath the gate, which was clearly built for normal-sized giant mutants. After which he ran into the camp and roared at the surrounding mutants, who aimed their weapons at him in response.

"Stompey! Do you remember me? Do you remember your clan? We who saved you when you were still just Mobb?" The Behemoth leaned in close, his torso-sized head bumping Boston back slightly. The clan leader stood unflinching however, meeting the gargantuan mutant's eyes and trusting in his memory of their history to prevail. The mutant inhaled deeply near Boston's clothes, vacuuming in his black t-shirt into his ogre-like nostrils.

Stompey extended himself back to his impressive height. He reached behind his back and lifted his makeshift backpack into the air. With a labored grunt he threw the old world camping trailer down, landing it on an unoccupied patch of dirt between himself and Boston. "What's this? Search it through Chop." Chop ran over to the camp trailer, tore open its metal doors, and dragged out several gore bags from it. He ripped open one and sniffed its contents.

"Meat!" He called to the gathered clan, who responded with cheers for the Behemoth dubbed Stompey. The Behemoth trudged over to the steep, twisting hill and laid down upon it, nearly covering it completely. His snores began, but the rumbles didn't bother any of the mutants, who were busy munching away at the heaps of raw multifarious meats the giant had gifted them. Girder demanded the mutants let him cook the raw meat at first, before eventually succumbing to his own hunger and joining in the impromptu buffet himself. The meat showed that Stompey still remained loyal to Boston, yet his aggression showed that he may have grown even duller since his last visit. Boston ordered all of the watchers to return to their beds and get some rest. There was no need to worry about the camp being attacked by anyone, anymore.

\+ "Hello friendly waste cretins! It's Anonymous Valley Chey here, coming to you LIVE via invisible magic waves, from my clandestine studio! Probably not magic, but like... Look, I don't even know how any of this shit works, it just kinda does. I mean right now, as I speak, I'm leaning into this weird metal device that's taking my face noises and funneling them somehow through all of these wires on the floor - holy shit I need to clean up by the way - and like through the _magic_ of science, it's being projected through whatever pre-war radio you happen to be using, and into your biological sound receptors. Like what the hell dude! Ha-ha, that shit's weird man, that's all I'm saying. Like if I was just a teensy bit less high right now, maybe I'd look into finding out how it does what it does, but fuck it, you know? Ha-ha-ha! Butt-Fuck it! Geez… Yeah so I don't really know what I even wanted to say anymore, but uhh…howsa bout some Otis, Otis Redding. Not Otis-Otis Redding, just, I mean, it's just one Otis…Otis Redding. "These arms of mine". I'm gonna play it now. Just for you. M'kay bye."

Sergeant Shipley smiled. In all her days traveling the wasteland for the Brotherhood, she'd heard every kind of radio personality. They all had their quirks and little charming idiosyncrasies she thought, but none of them were as entertaining to listen to as Valley Chey, and her nonsensical drug-enhanced rants. Dutch and she had been ordered by Elder Cyrus to report to the Steel Chapel before dawn, contradicting orders from Richmond HQ which stated they were to return immediately after delivering the cargo. Regardless, Dutch had decided that as no one in Richmond held the rank of Elder, Cyrus' orders took precedence. Dutch gestured for Shipley to cut the radio off just as they entered the Steel Chapel. At the end of the deep-blue carpeted walkway, they could see the Elder speaking to an orange haired scribe, the Paladin named Reese, and the non-hostile super mutant from the day before.

"That thing freaks me out Dutch. I can't trust a mutant. How are we supposed to go on a mission with that thing?" Shipley's concern was understandable, Dutch thought. Honestly it freaked him out as well, but being a Knight loyal to the Brotherhood meant you didn't get to question an Elder's orders.

"It'll be fine, Jenni. I've heard stories about things like this. About mutants who abandon their brothers in order to lead peaceful lives."

"Yeah, we all have. About that one from vault 81, who helped the Lone Wanderer purify the water and defeat the Enclave. I also heard that if you step on a live bottlecap mine _just_ right, you have the slightest chance to disarm it. Do you want to be the one to test out that theory Dutch?" Dutch chuckled at Shipley, but the Sergeant refused to join him. To her, there was nothing funny about super mutants. They made their way to the Elder's quarters where they joined the others who'd already gathered.

"Captain Dutch, Sergeant Shipley, good morning. I don't think you've been properly introduced to our guest yet. This is Rocky. He's not naturally violent I assure you, at least, no more so than any human. He's the product of Miss Fiona's LEO procedure."

"Of course, Fiona was my mother's name, Elder. I'm Senior Scribe Liona Daughtry, hello Knights." Liona corrected.

"Right. Right… It's a long story so for the sake of brevity let's just say, he's been scientifically rehabilitated. However, this is his first mission as a new mutant, and as a soldier of the Brotherhood. Which is why I need your help. Along with Paladin James Reese here, you will be assigned with aiding Rocky in peace talks with the slaver known as Montecrief. Should he need help involving bullets and lasers, you'll help him there as well. Furthermore, should he regress back to his older, less civilized ways, it will be your duty to eliminate him."

"Understood sir. This is quite unusual, as I'm sure you understand, but Sergeant Shipley and I are willing to fulfill our duty to the Brotherhood without -"

"Very good, Captain. That will be all. Paladin Reese will escort you to the vertibird."

"Ad-Victoriam Elder." Shipley and Dutch chest saluted the Elder before following Reese.

"Now as for you Rocky… Where is the prisoner, Liona?"

"She's already loaded on the vertibird, Elder. Just as you asked." Answered the Scribe.

"Oh, of course. Well, regardless. What you need to know is that she is going to, just like you recommended, lead you to Montecrief, who is apparently located at the heart of Old Oakwood. He has repurposed an old world mansion to act as a fortress and slave compound, and has garnered a relatively large fighting force of ghouls as well. So don't start shooting unless you absolutely must. Besides that, I leave the rest to you. If you are successful, I'll name you a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel; perhaps we'll make a new ranking just for your kind! It'll take some time for the folks here to warm up to you, but I reckon for a charmer like you it won't be too long."

"The knighting will be enough for now." Rocky admitted.

"I sure hope you are able to talk some sense to Montecrief, because if he doesn't surrender, I'll be forced to send a lot more men, and risk many more lives…from both of our sides. You can tell Montecrief as much." The Elder returned to his quarters.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Rocky?" Asked Liona.

"I've dealt with ghouls before, Liona. I'll be fine, I promise." Rocky looked the petite scribe dead in her eyes as he spoke, in the hopes of alleviating her fears.

"I have no doubt you've fought ghouls before, but have you ever talked to one?" Rocky answered her question with a long silence. "Right. Well then you should know that ghouls are very stubborn, and more than a little reluctant to deal with humans. Convincing Montecrief to stand down won't be an easy task, that's all I'm saying." Liona waited for a response from Rocky, who simply nodded and smiled at her. "Look, as far as the thing with Reese goes, don't bring it up on the mission. I'm worried how he'll react. We'll talk to him when you get back, and we'll see what he knows. Good luck, Rocky." She pressed her face deep into his abdomen and wrapped her arms around his waist: a goodbye hug.

\+ Lancer Captain Kellard wasn't so ecstatic to let his prize vertibird, Big-Bird, be sent back into the skies on another mission so soon after getting her back. He had only just finished patching her up, cleaning her interior, and repainting the letters 'B.B.' on her sides, when Elder Cyrus ordered him to prep her for another takeoff. Its abnormally large cabin would be required to hold Rocky, three Knights in power armor, and their prisoner Agrippina. Dutch and Shipley sat on one side of the bench furthest from the cockpit, while Rocky was seated on the other end. Across from them, seated nearest to the cockpit, sat Agrippina and Reese so that she could give directions to the Lancer when need be, and so that Reese could keep her quiet the rest of the time. At one point during the flight, Agrippina leaned over her seat to ask the Lancer if he had a license to fly the vertibird. Before she could hear the answer Reese grabbed her and sat her back down on the bench. After that, she was obedient for a while. She twiddled her thumbs and occasionally glanced out of the window to be sure that they were headed the right way, but didn't say a word. Until Reese fell asleep, leaving her some time to ask a question that had been bothering her ever since the day before when she had been brought before the Elder in the Steel Chapel.

"Sooo Rocky, is it? I've been wondering. Why aren't you mean?" The brown skinned woman asked. "I mean, it's just that I've never met a super mutant who didn't want to eat me is all, and you saved me. So I guess my real question is: why'd you do that?" The members of Intrepid squad leaned in to listen as well, curiosity compelling them.

"I just pointed out an alternative option. He could have let you sit in a cell for a few weeks, or we could have you take us to the man that ordered you to steal that cargo."

"If you say so… You speak well, you know that?"

"What you mean to say is that I don't sound like a homicidal idiot, right? That seems to surprise most humans, I've found."

"And how couldn't it? It's bloody odd! Most of you green fellas aren't fit to express yourselves with anything more than grunts, fisticuffs, or monosyllabic words like, 'Eat' or 'Die'." The woman proceeded to chuckle heartily at her own jest.

"I'm not like other mutants - not anymore. I don't enjoy hurting people, and I don't like to fight. Not as a first resort."

"Me neither, honestly. But in a world like this, you can't exactly sell cookies door to door, y'know? I suppose that's why I got into thieving. Its somewhere in the middle I reckon, between a travelling pastry salesman and something more nefarious. Not to mention I've simply got a knack for taking stuff that isn't mine without getting caught."

"You sure about that last part?" Rocky smiled at the captive, practically pointing out her chains as he chuckled softly.

"Laugh it up, Greeny. I'll have you know that I only got caught because the plan was utter rubbish. How was I supposed to convince four Brotherhood Knights that I'm a Lancer from a base that I have never even been to before? I mean, sure I could have hid my accent a bit better, but I try not to live my life in constant retrospect, y'know? I just wish Marci, and Cliff could've made it." She said while playing with a strand of her long black hair. Agrippina was a beautiful woman, Rocky noticed. She was tall, slender, and her face was nearly scientific in its perfection; almost as if it had been hand crafted in a lab somewhere.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Agrippina asked, wiping her cheeks.

"No, sorry. It's err… You mentioned a woman named Marci, and a man named Cliff. Were they your partners?"

"Sure, you could call it that. Although, I don't think we ever specifically defined our relationship in such a way. I met the two of them in a place up north called the Commonwealth. They sort of got me out of a tight jam up there, and I've been traveling with them ever since. We weren't family. Well…they were, I guess. We did good work together."

"What kind of 'tight jam'? Was it similar to the one you're in now? Rocky asked.

"Hardly. Let's just say I'm not like everyone else either."

"That's right, you're not like everyone else. See 'cuz most everyone else is free. And you're my prisoner, miss. And didn't I already tell you to keep your mouth shut?" The aging yet vigilant Knight hadn't stirred once in his apparent sleep, and so his voice spooked the woman.

"We were just making small talk, is all… I thought you were asleep." Agrippina insisted.

"I never sleep on missions. And I especially don't, when I'm in charge of a prisoner." The Paladin growled.

"We've arrived in Old Oakwood, Paladin." Spoke the Lancer.

"You heard him, Agri-whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is." Reese pulled Agrippina to the pilot's side. While the three of them were occupied with the directions, the two leaders of Intrepid squad decided to have their turn with the elephant-sized mutant in the room.

"Hey Rocky. We only half met back at the fort. My name's Ryan Dutch. I'm the leader of Intrepid Squad. This is my second in command, Jennifer Shipley." Jenni removed her helmet in order to get a good look at Rocky. Her golden hair was shaved on the sides and what was left on top she had tied into a small, tight bun. Dutch then removed his helmet as well. He looked much how Rocky imagined most male Knights did under their thick exoskeletons. His entire scalp was buzzed, but his face made up for the hair deficiency as he had a dark, full beard with only some parts on his cheeks and chin left bald from deep scarring.

"Hello Knights." Rocky extended his hand as he had seen humans do in greeting before. Dutch accepted it with a smile.

"If what I understand is correct, you want to be a Knight. I've been all over, and I've seen everything that the Brotherhood's east coast presence has to offer. But honestly, I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's true, there's never been a super mutant in the Brotherhood. East or west coast. We've been wondering: Why the hell would a mutant even want to become a Knight?" Jenni added.

"I guess it is pretty odd, but I try to look at it this way: All super mutants are infertile, and so some seek to procreate by kidnapping humans and submerging them in vats filled with FEV. This means that all of us, no matter how horrendously mutated, are still, at our core, human. From what I can tell, the Brotherhood fights for humanity. That's what I want to do as well. The only difference between our philosophies, is that I seek to fight for humanity regardless of the mutated form I find it in."

"What about the mutants that you were just talking about? About the ones who kidnap innocent people and forever ruin their lives by turning them into more mutants? You want to fight for them too?" Asked Shipley, wildly gesturing with her armored hands.

"Liona Daughtry - she's the Senior Scribe you saw in the Steel Chapel - I once heard her say to another human that the mutants of the wasteland are their own enemies, well before they become ours. By 'ours' I believe she was not only referring to the Brotherhood of Steel, but humanity at large. Many of my former brothers, they do not remember their lives as humans, not any more than the occasional fleeting recollection will allow. But I do, at least a little bit, thanks to Liona and her LEO procedure. In its immediate aftermath I regained my true personality, and my humanlike disposition, and I even remembered things like how to read and write. And now I am slowly remembering my old life, one piece at a time. If I can be changed, then why can't they? Why can't this Montecrief change? I need to try to help them, as best I can. That has to be the point of all this."

"Well shit, Rocky. I don't know about Jenni, but that's all I needed to hear. I've gotta say, it does make me wonder if all of these years of fighting mutants could have been better spent trying to help them."

"They're murderers, Dutch. I'd kill any kind of being that would kill so many others without reason."

"You don't need to feel guilty for your past ignorance, Dutch. It's a difficult situation. How do you help someone who's trying to kill you? It is a question I seek to answer in my new life." Suddenly the vertibird jerked downward.

"We're here soldiers. Prepare for landing." Dutch and Jenni put their helmets on, stood, and grabbed the metal handles on the ceiling. Rocky, having no prior training in vertibird landing protocol, was flung into the vertibird's sliding metal door with a thump. Reese helped him to his feet.

"You're lucky we aren't here for an attack; with those doors open, your big ass woulda learned to fly real quick." Rocky saw Dutch and Jenni laughing, but before the embarrassment could set in, the bird began taking shots.

"What the fuck is that?" Asked Shipley.

"They don't know we're here to talk. Let's just hope Rocky's budding diplomatic career doesn't get us all killed." Answered Reese. The Lancer perched the oversized bird in a natural depression about a hundred yards away from the objective.

"All right, here we are everyone. The two of you are going with Rocky here, and you're gonna help him as previously instructed, copy?" Asked Reese. The two soldiers of Intrepid Squad responded together. "Copy."

"As for you -" Reese looked at Agrippina who cut him off.

"I'll be going with Rocky. He needs me, right Greeny?"

"Not a fucking chance in hell, thief. You served your purpose already. You're staying right here with me."

"I think she's right, Paladin. I don't know this place; none of us do. She should come with me." Rocky challenged Reese.

"Is that what you think, Mutey? And who is gonna be held accountable if the schemey little thief finds a way to escape? She stays here."

"I'm in charge of -"

"You're not in charge of shit, mutant. This here is a suicide mission. And Elder Cyrus knows it. Sending such a small team out here into uncharted territory to face an army of entrenched ghouls, - he knows you won't make it back. And I'm not going to risk any more lives than I have to on this shit. That's including hers and it's including mine. Lancer, when they unload, take us into the sky and look for a safer spot to land. You have one hour Rocky. If I don't hear from any of you by then, then we're leaving." Rocky stepped out of the bird, followed by Dutch and Shipley. He took a couple of steps onto the soaked landscape, looked down at his boots and watched as they sunk into the mud.

"Darion didn't die, Reese." Rocky declared seemingly to his boots. Reese signaled for the Lancer to stop, and he returned to the door of the vertibird.

"What the hell did you just say, mutey?"

"Sentinel Darion Rockwell didn't die that night. Not entirely."

"How the… Who…" The proverbial cat must have finally had its day with Reese's tongue. For the first time that the 43 year old soldier could remember, he was speechless. His words were halted by the sudden and inescapable truth. Rocky turned to the stunned Knight.

"I need her if I'm going to do this, James. Help an old friend out here, will you?" Reese climbed down from the bird and stood right in front of his former C.O.

"Is it… Is it really you, Sentinel?" Reese's tones usual sharp edge had been noticeably dulled by the new information.

"Not completely. Not yet. The LEO is a slow cure I'm afraid. But I remember you, 1st Cavalier." Rocky's eyes swelled. In truth, the man who despised Rocky most, had been Darion's dearest friend, and Rocky had been reminded of their former bond. Reese held his fist firmly to his heart.

"I am so sorry, Darion. I didn't know. I…I…" Rocky placed a hand on the contrite Paladin's left pauldron.

"I need her help, James." Rocky reminded him. Reese entered the Vertibird for a moment, spoke to the Lancer, and returned with Agrippina.

"Yay! We're all friends now! I'm not entirely sure what just happened but…still, how exiting!" The thief smiled brightly with glee. Her smile sought to persuade even the most staunchly devoted cynic.

"You're comin' with us but I still don't trust you, woman." Reece said.

"'Us' is it, Paladin?" Asked Rocky.

"Never again, will I let you go to battle alone, Sentinel. I won't make that mistake twice in one life." With a slap on the rear, Big-Bird began chopping air. Once it was out of sight the crew of four followed Agrippina through the mucky overgrowth. As they walked in single file, Rocky wondered what his friend Liona was doing.

\+ Whenever a child is born at Fort Duke, they are given the first 9 years of their lives to be children. To play tag and hide and seek, to play with toy guns and dolls, and to not worry about anything other than simple schooling. But when a child reaches the age of 10, everything changes. They are officially conscripted into a semi-military role as Squires where they stay for 3 or 4 years. After and based on a series of tests and evaluations, the young Squires will be placed in a position that best fits their abilities. The ones with talent on the range or for fighting are chosen to shadow Knights, while the ones who exhibit talent in math, history, and science are placed with the Scribes to learn from them, and the ones with an affinity and aptitude for aviation are placed with the Lancers. At the age of 18, if they've met all of the prerequisites, they can be officially titled 'Knight' or 'Scribe' or 'Lancer'. From there they can reach higher ranks by accomplishing missions, or by outperforming the expectations of their current rank. In the time since arriving at Fort Duke in 2287, no one had risen through the ranks of Scribe as fast as Liona Daughtry had. At the age of 12 she was promoted early to the rank of initiate for dramatically outperforming her fellow Squires in all core classes. At the age of 16, when she solved the T-60 power armor's issues with energy consumption allowing for 1 power core to last twice as long as it had before, she was promoted to Scribe. Finally when Liona was 18, an age when others her age were just surpassing the rank of initiate, she was granted the position of Senior Scribe by Elder Cyrus for developing the LEO procedure. As a Scribe in charge of an entire program, she was granted her own sect of the laboratory to perform her duties. For the last week she had been so preoccupied with Rocky that she was forced to quell her overwhelming control-freakiness and allow Theodore Wickett, a fellow Senior Scribe and unofficial number 2, to run the lab studies. She stepped into the brightly lit white lab and hung her study pack on a nearby coat hanger, which promptly fell over due to its unbalanced number of legs. Her pack hit the ground sending her journals and loose papers jetting across the blue tile floors. Shannon and Theodore, who were busy reviewing their notes and thus hadn't heard Liona enter, jumped up from their desks and rushed over to Liona to lend a hand. Shannon tracked down most of the scattered papers and stacked them neatly before presenting them to an annoyed Liona.

"Theodore, my dear friend and cherished colleague, how many times have I requested that this hanger be fixed?" Liona asked while repacking her bag and draping its strap back over her shoulder.

"Liona! It's…uhh…so nice to see you! We were just wondering when you'd return from your hiatus." Theodore's voice always raised by an octave or two when he was nervous or getting scolded. Usually Liona found his awkwardness endearing, but she was in no mood for it today.

"Just fix it, all right Theodore?" The male scribe leaned over to the raven haired Initiate Scribe. "And don't pass it off to Shannon again!" Liona snapped at him with an index finger raised like a saber.

"All right, all right, geez Liona. What has you so ornery this morning? Has Rocky departed already? We heard he was being sent on his first mission today - very exciting indeed." Liona glared at Theodore. 'What has you so ornery this morning' she thought, mockingly. He knew that she was worried about Rocky, but he brought it up anyway. 'Whatever' she continued internally as she walked over to the center lab station. Atop the table was a half human and half super mutant leg. She picked up and began reading the literature taped to it.

"Oh yes, Subject A's single most distinguishing feature. Shannon and I took most of the last week to accomplish a few minor yet essential lab-keeping duties, but we saved a few hours for this in particular. A few cross referenced DNA studies showed that the calf shares none with the thigh. We were able to deduce that in fact, the calf never was introduced to the FEV in the first place."

"So it didn't fight off the FEV like we initially suspected?" Liona asked.

"No, it didn't fight off the FEV like _you_ initially suspected." Theodore passively countered. "Although, our Scribe-in-the-making here has developed some intriguing theories as to why it was the only part left unaltered." Shannon kept quiet for a moment. Then, after realizing that she had been prompted to speak, did so.

"Oh, me? Sorry. I guess that I just sort of thought…"

"Come now Shannon. You have to show confidence in your ideas, or no one else will." Theodore encouraged. Liona waited patiently for Shannon to speak.

"Super mutants dip their captives into batches of FEV in order to accelerate its effects on the victim."

"Yes, this much we know." Liona concurred.

"Well, if that's true, then maybe they weren't able to cover Subject A completely. Maybe they've finally run out of FEV, and are now looking for more." Shannon concluded as confidently as possible.

"It's a pretty interesting possibility, huh Liona? After she told me her theory, I asked around a bit. Several Knights can remember spotting super mutants with human limbs around the areas to the north. I mean, it would explain why they've traveled so far south. I doubt they were pursuing us over some sort of vendetta." Theodore speculated.

"Yes, it's very interesting Shannon. I'm proud of your work in my absence, both of you."

"Aren't you happy, Ms. Daughtry?" Shannon asked, noticing Liona's lack of excitement in her theory.

"Yes, I mean, I'm happy with your work, it's just that I'm a bit disappointed with the mutant leg results. If the leg had fought off the FEV, or repelled it somehow, we could have used it to develop something that not only fights the FEV's cognitive degeneration, but also its physical alterations."

"Yes, I'm sure Rocky would have benefited greatly from that. But alas, here we are. Standing in front of a useless, half mutated limb. That's science for you." Theodore said, resting his chin on his hand.

"Alright. I guess we can dispose of it then. At least it makes sense now why the LEO gene didn't take to his system; he hadn't fully transformed into a super mutant."

"Good morning everyone." No one had heard him enter, and so they all jumped to attention as he shut the laboratory door behind himself.

"Elder Cyrus, good morning. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Theodore asked.

"To this," the Elder dangled a note between his pinched fingers. "Sergeant Heyward requires the contents of this list A-S-A-P. He said that you would be able to acquire them for him Liona."

"And he got you to deliver it? An Elder playing courier? Do the duties of Elder bore you, sir?"

"Never mind my duties as Elder. I like taking walks every so often to visit the buildings farthest from the chapel, that's all. Smith Dalton told me what he needed and I offered to help." Liona strode over and grabbed the note. After faintly mouthing the list she turned to Shannon.

"Shannon here, take this." The Initiate did what she was told. "You can gather everything from the store room on the second floor. Do so and I'll meet you at the Foundry." Shannon took the note from Liona and hurried out of the lab. Liona nodded to Theodore, and left right behind her. Elder Cyrus folded his arms and walked closer to the table with the leg on it. He stared at the disembodied limb as if he meant to comment on it.

"Theodore."

"Y-yes Elder."

"Do you have the results?"

"Oh, oh yes Elder. Here, um. Take a seat." Theodore motioned towards a stool near the examination table. The Elder remained standing as if he had never heard Theodore, glaring at the frazzled scientist. "Okay. So. After several examinations and a bevy of neurological tests performed by our advanced Auto-Doc -"

"Theodore. What am I dealing with?"

"Sir…you have early onset Alzheimer's. The disease has spread throughout your cerebral cortex, shrinking it considerably."

"Time…how much do I have, Theodore?" Elder Cyrus, a man once known for his astounding strength and vitality, could almost feel his memories of those days of glory fleeing him, taking with them his spirit.

"Elder Cyrus, I'm loathe to tell you this, I am. And it's such a difficult disease to gauge -" Cyrus glared at Theodore impatiently. "You have less than one year before the effects overwhelm your mind. Maybe, with luck, we could extend -"

"Thank you Theodore. I would appreciate your continued protection of my privacy in these medical matters. There's a reason I came to you with this and not that bureaucrat, Rourke." The Elder turned to leave the lab when all of a sudden Theodore took hold of his arm tightly.

"I will do all I can to preserve your right to your privacy for as long as I can, Elder Cyrus. But soon will come a day when you will no longer be fit to operate your position effectively. It is by the Codex, and our very creed, that I must beg you to consider stepping down, and soon." Cyrus pulled the scientists scrawny arm away gently.

"Codex, creed - these mean little to a dying, forgetful man. As for me stepping down, I wouldn't worry about it Dr. Wickett. It will never come to that."

\+ The squad of five made their arrival at 9 o'clock. They lay low in a patch of trees across the road from Montecrief house, discreetly monitoring the shadowy exterior. Paladin Reese had done most of the surveying thus far, quietly scanning with his laser rifle's thermal scope. The rest of the group had no such luxury however, and a moment's wait passed Agrippina's acceptable patience limit prompted her to speak first.

"Have you sufficiently indulged your voyeuristic nature, Paladin? Because I'm about ready to get on with it." The civilian prodded.

"How do you expect us to know if they're waiting for us to make a move so they can rain missiles down on us, if I don't check first? Oh, that's right, you wouldn't. Because you're a civvy."

"Not so loud, yeah? It sort of defeats the whole purpose of spying when you shout like that. Or don't you know that already soldier boy?" Reese glared at Agrippina for a moment, before deciding to spare himself the wasted breath, and return to his scope. Another few long moments passed before the next person interrupted.

"Do you see anything, Paladin?" Whispered Dutch.

"Not a peep. The place doesn't even seem inhabited."

"Well you know some people believe in getting a full 8 hours every night, Paladin. Not everyone spends their nights crawling through the mud on furtive pursuits of diplomacy." Agrippina said.

"Hush, I think -" Yet before Reece could mention it, a wide, bright spotlight shone from atop the nearest guard post, highlighting the previously concealed group amongst the brush. Its operator spoke:

"Hello. Yes, you there. The ones attempting to hide in that bunch of trees over yonder. We see you just fine. My name's Char. Mr. Montecrief has asked me to grant you access to his home. I'm here to make sure he doesn't regret it." The gruff voice emanating from a hidden intercom paused while the fence gate was pulled open, and a wooden bridge was let down. "You can come on in, with your weapons holstered, and your manners about yourselves."

"Should have just knocked huh, Cap." Shipley whispered to Dutch. The group stood, holstered their weapons, and marched slowly over to the wooden bridge. Below their boots lay a deep moat, stretching around the perimeter of the property, full of bubbling radioactive waste. Dutch's armor began ticking in response to the deadly amounts of nuclear goop.

"Shit that's a lot of rads." Dutch whispered to no one in particular while assessing the frailty of the bridge and the odds of surviving a swim in the poisonous liquid below it. "Hey, Agrippina. You're the only one here without armor, or…mutations. Maybe you should hang back." Dutch offered after reading his Geiger counter.

"You're sweet for the courtesy Captain, but I feel fine. Rads haven't really ever bothered me none, to be honest." Agrippina replied, while balancing on the low wooden guardrail of the bridge. Dutch gawked at the slender woman for as long as he could without drawing her attention. He had half a mind to insist, or even to force her to stay back, but honestly, he decided, she didn't seem fazed the slightest bit by the copious amounts of rads in the air. They quickly made it across the brief bridge, only to be greeted by ghoul slavers from all sides pointing various automatic weapons at them. The entire group except for Paladin Reese forfeited their hands.

"Now I would have sworn just a moment ago I told you idiots, not to walk in here with your weapons drawn. If you can't follow my rules, then I'll have to let my boys and girls here end this chat before it's even begun." From behind the crowds of peeling faces a blackened one spoke, with the same grizzled voice previously heard on the intercom.

"What are you talking about? Our hands are up, ghoul. Are your eyes as shitty as they look?" Shipley taunted. The ghoul named Char opened his jaw allowing his mostly-finished hand rolled cigarette to drop to the floor. He spit after it, before reaching into his tattered shirt's pocket to withdraw a new one. Keeping his eyes fixed on the group, he laid it onto his tongue and took a struck match to the other end, speaking all the while.

"You know what? They may just be. Because it would make more sense then what I'm seeing right now. Steel boy, why don't you follow suit and put your metal away like the rest of your crew?"

"I'm not putting my weapon away. Not when I'm surrounded by a bunch of low-life slavers who're aimin' theirs at me. You drop yours and I will too, not a second before."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? This is Montecrief House! Here, Mr. Montecrief makes the rules! If you want to see him then you've got one choice: holster your weapon."

"Yeah, that would normally make sense, except, you're the one tellin me the rules. So howsa bout I wait for your master to tell me. Where is he anyway?"

"We don't have masters here. Mr. Montecrief is the owner of this establishment. Making him our employer, nothing more."

"Whatever you say. All I know is you guard where he wants you to, you shoot who he tells you to- for all I know you shit when he allows you to. Considerin' how we haven't been shot yet, I can only assume that means Mr. Montecrief doesn't want us dead just yet, and if he doesn't want us dead, then that means that you aint gonna do shit to us. So let's just wait for your master to come on out and give us a warm welcome, what do you say?" The ghoul's face was made even darker by his hateful expression. He ripped his sawn off shotgun from its hip holster and raised it to the group of five.

"That's it, asshole. You lose!" In unison, the ghouls racked their rifles and released their safeties. They took aim.

"CHAR, STOP!" The ghouls turned around to face the upper balcony of Montecrief house, where the silhouette of the man after whom the building was named stood, leaning over the railing. His face obscured by a spotlight which shone directly at the group.

"Mr. Montecrief? He's asking for it! We can't let some smoothskins come in here and disrespect us! Isn't that what this was all about?"

"You're failing to see that you've already disrespected them by greeting them with so many raised firearms, Char." His voice sounded distorted to the group, as if he spoke through a mechanism made to amplify his voices' natural resonance. "Let them through. I'll speak with all of them inside." The ghoulish leader vanished back into his home.

"Howsa' bout it Char old boy?" Reese teased. Without a word Char turned and walked into the fortified mansion, and the group led by Reese followed. Inside the walls were decorated with half torn pictures in ornate frames. Old world hunting weapons along with pre and post war hunting victims filled any open spaces left by the pictures. In the main room there was a long curved staircase with a twisting ivory handrail, and at the top of it stood a faintly glowing, green ghoul, of equally impressive height and dress. He wore a perfect-condition prewar navy blue tuxedo, accented with chocolate brown shoes, a mud colored tie and a golden wrist watch. He walked halfway down the steps and addressed the room.

"Good morning everyone. It's not often that we get so many visitors, or, intruders as the case may be. Which sort are you?" His voice sounded electronic. It lacked the more common gravely tone that humans had come to expect from ghouls. He echoed like several people speaking in unison in an empty room.

"The impatient sort, Montecrief. We came to talk." Reese replied.

"Yes, I can hear that much. But what about, exactly?" The towering ghoul removed his circular spectacles and wiped them on a shred of cloth which he had previously produced from his jacket.

"Mr. Montecrief." Rocky stepped forward. "We came to talk about -"

"Oh my god. That is absolutely remarkable! The Brotherhood sent an intelligent mutant to speak for them! I apologize for interrupting, green fellow. What is your name?"

"Rocky."

"As in Road?"

"What?"

"Err, nothing… An old joke, that's all… excuse me. Please continue."

"We came here as ordered by Elder Cyrus of the Brotherhood of Steel to discuss terms of peace." Rocky explained.

"And yet you elected to bring so many weapons, Rocky. Did you truly hope to convince me or was your true aim to intimidate me? Either way your luck will be the same, I think." The slaver replaced his glasses upon his withered head before pausing for a few beats to analyze the entire group of visitors scrupulously. A moment before his glare grew to be uncomfortable, he reset his posture and spoke conclusively. "Nevertheless, it seems my curiosity has once again dashed my better wisdom." The dapper ghoul paused a moment, squinted, subtly refitted his glasses and focused his gaze on the dark skinned, armor-less figure to the back of the group. "And you've even brought her back. Hello, Agrippina. It's nice to see you again. The job didn't go as planned, I presume?" Montecrief patronized.

"It bloody well didn't!"

"Well. Thank you for showing the Brotherhood right to my doorstep, Agrippina."

"I didn't have a choice Monte! I'm not exactly operating under my own volition here!" Agrippina said, jingling her wrist chains.

"There is always a choice, Agrippina. You've made yours. Well since you're all here, I suppose it would be beneficial to talk, before I decide what to do with you all. I'll speak to one of you, and no more. I don't want you all tracking boot grime throughout my house. Not to mention whatever rad-beast scat you've managed to step on out there."

"Me." Rocky decided.

"The mutant? Truly? And none of you object?"

"I was sent here to talk with you. The others are only here to ensure that I do so."

"Very well, very well. Follow me. The rest of you can wait in the dining room."

"Good luck, Sentinel. We'll be waiting down here." Reese said, giving Rocky a nod, who then scaled the stairs behind Montecrief. The two walked into Montecrief's office and sat on opposing armchairs near a large wooden engraved desk covered with books of various sizes. Montecrief poured a shallow drink of bourbon for himself, and quickly downed it.

"It's a prewar vintage. Ordinarily I'd offer a guest some, but…well I've never seen an intoxicated mutant before, and frankly I do not want to find out what that looks like."

"To be honest I don't quite know what that would look like either. You've been very hospitable already, especially given the circumstances. I've got to ask though: why are you so…"

"Pleasant? Sorry, was that too presumptuous? Was it the word, 'reasonable', that you were struggling to find?" Montecrief sipped his drink.

"Yes. Pleasant and reasonable. Those aren't words that I would expect to find myself describing a slaver with."

"Of course not. And do you know why that is?" Rocky shook his head. "It's because I'm not a slaver. Now you're wondering, 'well, if you're not a slaver, then why does everyone say that you are, Montecrief?' The answer is simple: I used to be.

"You used to be?" Rocky asked.

"Have you ever been in love, Rocky?"

"No, I haven't." Rocky answered.

"That's very fortunate, indeed. A long time ago, I happened upon the ghoulette of my dreams. She was the daughter of a then prominent Brahmin rancher, and she was as sweet as a Candy Drop. I met her one day while I was wondering along a road to nowhere, my stomach aching from neglect, and my feet from too much use. Eventually I spotted a farmhouse atop a roadside hill. I stumbled up to the front door, and I knocked as hard as I could muster before fainting from exhaustion and dehydration. I woke up hours later, laying on a bed inside the farmhouse. A voice says to me, 'Hello, are you awake yet? I brought you some stew, and some water.' Once I had finally regained my vision, I saw the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen sitting on the bed next to me, offering me stew from a wooden spoon. She nursed me back to health, and when I was strong enough her father allowed me to repay him by working on his farm. I did so for many years, and somewhere along the way, the rancher's daughter and I fell in love. We were together for 30 years, and yet even now as I recall those memories, it still doesn't seem like it could have been any more than a dozen. We lived far from the city of Old Oakwood back then, and so it took us awhile to learn of what was happening here. All of the ghouls in the city had been hunted down, tortured, and killed by a human group known as the Oakwood Hunter's Guild. The Guild had labeled ghouls of all kind - feral or civil - as beasts to be hunted down and killed. To them we were no better than _deathclaws_ or _radscorpians_. I was away from the ranch for a couple of days, taking the herd up to new pastures to feed. Upon my return I…I found the charred remains of our farmhouse. The Guild had burned it down to the ground with…with my wife and her father inside." The ghoul paused to sip his drink again.

"I'm sorry, Montecrief. I can't imagine your pain." Rocky sympathized.

"No, you can't. But don't be sorry, Rocky. I made sure those responsible paid for what they had done. After burying my old life, I traveled across the Northern Carolines in search of any ghouls who hadn't yet been slaughtered by the Hunter's Guild. I found many of the surviving ghouls from Old Oakwood scattered about, homeless, scared, and searching for meaning. I gave them one: vengeance. Sadly, in other towns and cities, I found that our story was not unique. Many other ghouls had suffered the same tragedy by the hands of humans, and so I enlisted them for my cause as well. Eventually we grew strong enough to challenge the Hunter's Guild, and so we returned here, to Old Oakwood. On a moonless night, I came for the Hunters in their homes. We beat them bloody in their beds until they grew tired of screaming for mercy, then I ordered them dragged outside, and gathered in the streets. After all that time, I had finally realized my goal. There in front of me knelt the entirety of infamous Oakwood Hunter's Guild, begging me for their lives, and sobbing like babies with shit stained underwear and all. It wasn't their cries that shook me though. No, it was the cries of their families. Daughters and sons, wives and parents, all of them looking at me…like I was no better than a _deathclaw_ or a _radscorpian_. I saw that I was about to ruin their lives, the way these men did mine. I remembered the pain I had endured for so many years because of what they did to me. I couldn't let that happen again, - not by my hands - and yet I also couldn't let these men live unpunished. So I brought them to Mortdecai house, a historic landmark from before the war which I then renamed Montecrief house. I enslaved the lot of them, and I forced them to work producing food and whatever else we needed for 30 years or so. What we could spare, we gave to the humans of Old Oakwood- to their families. Eventually the hunters grew old and were unable to work, and so I allowed them to leave as sad, tired men. That was a very long time ago, and all of the participants in that story who weren't ghouls, have long since passed away. Ever still Rocky, the name endures. Montecrief the Slaver. Even ghouls it would seem have trouble outliving their past." There was a prolonged moment then, as the two mutants sat across from one another, lost in thought and reflection. Finally, as Montecrief downed the last of his drink, Rocky spoke up.

"I understand now. That's quite a sad story, Montecrief… I'm sorry, I guess I just don't know what to say to all of that." Rocky admitted.

"Then don't. We don't have time to dwell on such distant past, anyway. Let's talk about you. Where do you come from, Rocky?"

"I come from Fort Duke, a Brotherhood base. Before that, I came from a mutant camp in Warrenton."

"Oh yes I've heard of such a camp, many of my men who travel that far north don't come back. The ones that have, give word of an organized force of mutants that easily doubles our own. Is that true, Rocky?"

"Yes…well, I don't know how many ghouls you have here, but there were at least a hundred mutants there when I left."

"And why did you leave?"

"Leave?"

"Yes. You must have left in order to end up here. Why?"

"Well, I was ordered to leave. To follow a map."

"Ordered by whom?"

"My former leader. A mutant named Boston."

"And to where did this map lead you?"

"It was supposed to lead me to the Brotherhood base. But…"

"But it didn't, and you were captured instead."

"Yes, how-?"

"Just an educated guess. The whole story seems rather linear all of a sudden. You see Rocky, just like any other successful wasteland leader, I have many ears throughout the area. Some of them told me that there was some sort of peace agreement between the Warrenton mutants and the Brotherhood of Steel. They also told me that the Brotherhood had been seen on several occasions, collecting deceased super mutants and lifting them away on vertibirds. I assumed this was most likely for testing. I had little to no idea however what they were testing for, until I heard from some of my more distant ears a few days ago. They told me about a super mutant who had been living amongst the Brotherhood over at Fort Duke - a civilized mutant. Now the Brotherhood wants to negotiate with me as well. The way I see it, either the Brotherhood has finally run out of micro fusion cells, or they're scheming at something."

"Sounds to me like you're partial to conspiracies. Scheming at what?"

"Well Rocky, I don't think they want a truce. I think they want all of their enemies to stop attacking them and to stay put long enough for them to do something stupid. Like for instance, and I'm just spit-balling here, open that two century old vault beneath their feet."

"Vault? Like a bomb shelter?"

"Yes, like one of the multi-billion dollar ones Vault-Tec developed before the war. There's one under that old chapel. Just sitting there, filled with untold secrets, waiting to be cracked open. It's very alluring, as you can imagine."

"What's in this vault, and why would Elder Cyrus want to open it?"

"Oh I'm sure he's just curious is all... He simply wants to crack open its door just enough to see what may lie within it, and then he wants to close it right back up forever, having satisfied himself completely. Of course, you'd be a fool to believe that Rocky. Most vaults were made to protect humans, to keep them sheltered from the nuclear fallout for enough time so that they could leave them some day and repopulate the earth, thus ensuring humanities survival… At least, that's the narrative Vault-Tec tried to spin. In truth, most, if not all of them, were made to gather data on their inhabitants while they performed heinous lab rat-esque experiments on them. But this vault, vault 52, was made to store the most repulsive of old word secrets. A secret that you are quite familiar with Rocky. It has barrels upon barrels of FEV locked away within its dark interior. What for? Well, I'm sure I don't know. But it's in there."

"But if it's never been opened, then how do you even know what's inside of it?"

"Simple. Because my father and I tried to apply for entry within it. I'm what you might call a 'pre-war' ghoul."

"You were alive before the bombs dropped?"

"For 34 years I was, yes. It's a rather uncommon happening as far as I can tell, but there are a few ghouls out there like me. My father was a business man, an investor. He and his colleagues had made a lot of money over the years by predicting the unpredictable ebbs and flows of American capitalism. That is, until there final prognostication. They decided that the nuclear apocalypse had become an inevitability, and that they needed to take action to preserve themselves and their loved ones. Most of his colleagues tried to use their money and influence in order to gain entry into a vault, but Vault-Tec was only commissioned by the government to make 122 vaults - not quite enough for the 400 million US citizens at the time. It wasn't even enough for 1% of them. And the closest vault, vault 52, was said to be at full capacity, but despite my father's best efforts, he couldn't find anybody to buy out who had signed up for a place within its cozy metal walls. He did some asking around, and one of his friends at Vault-Tec divulged to him that a large amount FEV was being shipped out to the vault by the barrel. So my father used his connections in the military to locate another option. He learned of a man named Desmond Lockheart who had voluntarily underwent a process to ghoulify himself. My father knew of course that it was a risky option, and not everyone survives the process, but that if they did, they would be able to live through the coming centuries. My father used his remaining wealth to build a machine capable of performing such a procedure inside of a permanent shelter. But he was a sickly man, and as such would pass before seeing his project through to fruition. So in his absence I finished it, and bought my ticket for perpetual life. He neglected to tell me the side effects however. I mean, who would have known that it would make me so damn pretty?" What was left of the ghoul's skin, creased and folded around his surprisingly bright teeth to form a smile.

"But what would the Brotherhood want with FEV? They can't use it for anything, unless…" Rocky looked at his hands.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he is planning on using the LEO gene."

"The Leo who?"

"When I was created, I was just like every other super mutant. Dumb. Aggressive. Dangerous. But when the Brotherhood captured me, they used a process known as the LEO procedure to restore my humanity, and my memories of my former life."

"My word, how sci-fi of them! I assumed you were just one of the few mutants who took to the virus better than most. But wait, if he has the ability to restore a super mutant's mind back to the way it was, then he's… By god. Surely he wouldn't do that."

From the door there came a loud bang. Montecrief stood from his chair, as did Rocky. He walked to one of the windows and parted the curtain.

"What in the…" A storm of bullets could now be heard coming from the lower floor.

"Montecrief, what's happening?"

"Raiders, that's what." From behind Rocky the office door split in half and a group of raiders dressed in scrap metal suits came flooding through. They swung their sharpened and rusty tools at Rocky connecting with every blow, as he struggled to fend them off. The mutant grabbed the tallest one first, and tore his right arm clean off. Rocky used the disembodied limb as a fleshy bat and punished another two with vicious blows to their scrap helmets, shattering them and sending iron shrapnel surging into their brains. Montecrief turned to the window behind him. Below, his men were locked in battle with the swarming raider parties, trading flurries of bullets between each other. He saw a small escape route, however. If he scaled the roof to its furthest edge, he could leap clean over the wall and make a dash to freedom. He smashed open the window, grimacing at his hand as the glass shards sliced it through to the bone. Licking his lips in anticipation, he brought one leg through the broken window and rested his foot on the protruding wall siding. Over his shoulder he could hear Rocky roaring like a cornered silverback, fighting for its life. For every one he slew another two ran into the room, adding their blades to the fight. With his cleaver withdrawn, he managed to even the odds a bit, tearing through the small men with wide swings, until at last one ran through with a shotgun aimed at what where a normal man's waist would be. The scattershot blasted through his thighs' thick flesh forcing him to kneel. The raiders chanted 'kill, kill, kill' and raved as the leather masked shotgunner stood before Rocky and slowly reloaded his gun. He slammed the conjoined barrels of his smoking shotgun shut, he took aim at Rocky's head, but it was his own head that was suddenly and entirely removed. All of the drugged out raiders stopped shouting and turned to the window where they saw Montecrief for the first time, standing behind his desk squeezing a subtly smoking revolver. As he spoke he inflected upon certain words, emphasizing his ire while he fired the remaining rounds.

"Do you _imbeciles_ have any _inclination_ as to how _expensive_ this _carpeting was_?" 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- Each of his bullets made contact with a raiders head shortly before his words could enter their ears to be processed. Breathing heavily, and reloading his silver revolver, Montecrief continued speaking as if unaware he had just murdered his entire audience.

"Of course you don't! Because raiders don't pay for anything! You bastards just walk around, killing, stealing, and pillaging everything! Senseless morons!" Shortly after Montecrief's raider-rant concluded, the rest of Rocky's crew ran into the office, bloodied and with their weapons raised.

"Sentinel!" Paladin Reese dropped to the floor and started lifting Rocky to his feet.

"I'm fine James." Rocky mumbled.

"Did he do this?" Using his free arm, Reese raised his laser rifle to Montecrief.

"You walk in here, you see all of these dead raiders, and you think that Ihurt your mutant friend? As if it isn't enough that my house is now full of bullets and painted with STD and chem riddled raider blood! Now I have to suffer your interrogations in what's left of my own home?"

"Calm down, Monte. We get it. It wasn't Mr. Montecrief in the office with the revolver." Said Agrippina, who giggled and looked around the room to see if anyone had gotten it. Aside from Montecrief, who was far too furious to even contemplate laughter, no one did.

"Rocky, can you walk?" Asked Reese.

"Yeah, I think. Just give me a shot of stimpack and some med-x and I think I'll be fine." Dutch walked over and applied both the stimpack and the med-x to Rocky, who suddenly was able to manage his full weight by himself.

"We need to leave. There's something terrible happening, and we are the only ones who can stop it."

"Yeah, no shit there's something bad happening. Some huge group of raiders has a personal vendetta against Montecrief here, and we just so happened to get caught in the middle of it." Replied Sergeant Shipley.

"Not this. I'll explain later, but right now we need to move." Rocky reasserted.

"What about him?" Dutch asked nodding to Montecrief who now sat hunched behind his wooden desk with his back turned to the group, seemingly sulking.

"Montecrief, come with us. This place is destroyed. There's no use staying here now." Rocky said.

"Did you know Rocky, that I rebuilt this house, after the Great War, with my own two mangled hands? We've only just begun to get to know one another, and so ill forgive you your ignorance this once. But should we continue our relationship, there is one thing that you should know about me: I don't like losing, and I especially don't like doing so to raiders."

"Montecrief, this has nothin to do with winning and losing. This isn't a game or a sport. You need to come with us."

"Sentinel, if he wants to die in the name of pride, then I say we let him. He's no better than any one of these raiders as far as I'm concerned. Dress 'em in suits or rags, men who do evil - they're all the same." Reese said.

"Worse even. He's a slaver." Shipley agreed.

"Both pale in comparison to the butcher I once was. Have you even seen any slaves since we got here? These ghouls once enslaved men - a long time ago - because men harmed them, and because in this world it was a way to ensure their self-preservation. Most raiders kill and loot for reasons much the same. After my…my transformation, I was lost. The mind of an infant trapped inside the body of a hulking monstrosity. I killed and consumed because I enjoyed it - nothing more." Rocky looked at the group of Brotherhood soldiers as he gestured towards Montecrief. "If it wasn't for this former slaver, I would have been overwhelmed and killed by those raiders. Montecrief, this is final, will you come with us?" After a few short moments the group heard a metal latch turn and a door of the same material open and shut from behind the ghoul's desk. Montecrief stood, walked over to the group and presented to Rocky a small black and taped device with a red button center-placed.

"If it's not a game Rocky, then why do we insist on playing?"


	6. Chapter 6 - Alabaster Raiding Co

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 6 - Alabaster Raiding Co.**

\+ Sweetheart came-to in a dimly lit ten by ten prison cell, soaked in sweat, and panting like a wild dog. He wiped the crust out of his eyes, stumbled to his feet, and looked himself over hoping to find any hint as to what had happened to him since his last memory. He had been stripped down to his underwear, and relieved of all of his possessions. "The fuck…?" he muttered to himself in the shadowy cell. As if his words had prompted it to happen, a pair of yellow ceiling lights flickered on in the free side of the room.

"Sorry about the air conditioning." A young male's voice spoke from the free side. Sweetheart Nosferatued the light away from his eyes, slowly revealing more and more until he could make out the shape of the prepubescent boy speaking to him.

"Who…Where…" Sweetheart croaked.

"Who? I'm Ramsey. Ramsey Fink." The boy said proudly. "What's your name?"

"My name? Uhh, yeah, it's Sweetheart."

"What kind of a name is that?" Ramsey asked incredulously.

"I don't know… What kind of a name is 'Ramsey Fink'? It's just a name." Sweetheart said defensively. "Where am I anyway?"

"You're locked in a cell, inside a Brotherhood base called Fort Duke." Ramsey divulged freely.

"You're Brotherhood? What are you then, a jailor?" Sweetheart asked studying the youthful semi-soldier in front of him for clues.

"I'm a Squire if you have to know. One of the east coast's best." Ramsey boasted.

"One of the best, huh? That must be why they trust you to guard a prisoner like me all by yourself."

"I'm not guarding _you_. That would be a colossal misuse of my talents. Besides, from what I hear you're fairly incompetent. So much so that the elder thought it wouldn't take much more than a ceiling turret to guard you." Ramsey mercilessly chuckled while pointing to the automated machine gun turret above their heads.

"Mm. I get it. Those guys in power armor don't take me for much, huh?"

"Nope." Ramsey agreed.

"Okay Ramsey Fink. So what all did you hear about me?"

"I heard that you stole a Pip-Boy from a lightly guarded caravan, and that you were immediately captured by a pair of our Knights afterwards. Doyle's been bragging about it all day. That Pip-Boy is the only reason you aren't dead yet, you know. You should count yourself lucky."

"Oh, right. The Pip-Boy. This fucking thing was supposed to be my ticket. I take it the steel boys haven't had much luck getting it off of me?" Sweetheart poked and pulled at the device inextricably attached to his arm.

"Trust me, they know how to get it off. Certain models, like the one you're wearing, utilize a pretty advanced biometric lock, meaning it only releases when its user has either requested its removal by entering a series of pre-war factory codes, or died."

"Or if it just seems like they're dead, apparently. The woman I got this thing off of, I shot her with a serum called lock-joint: a paralysis agent. As soon as she passed out, the thing popped off like nothing." Sweetheart recalled.

"That could actually make sense. Bio-metric locks work by reading basic vitals, like a person's pulse and blood pressure. Both of which are significantly lowered while someone is paralyzed." Ramsey theorized.

"Wait, so if all they have to do is kill me, then why don't they?" Sweetheart said.

"We aren't barbarians, that's why. They're probably hoping to do things the first way, but in all honestly, it won't be long before they decide to hack that thing off of you just to be done with it. They're probably drawing straws to see who'll do it as we speak. Maybe had you chosen a more noble profession they would waste the time, but not for a raider."

"Noble? Yeah, and that's what you are, kid? That's what the Brotherhood is?" Sweetheart asked rapid-fire.

"Of course the Brotherhood is noble!" Ramsey Fink paused and shook his head slightly. "At least, we were, at some point, noble."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that kid, you might actually start to believe it someday. Let me ask you something. Have you ever actually left this place? This Fortress guarded by high walls and armed soldiers and god-damn ceiling turrets?" The youngling was looking at his hands, intertwining his fingers nervously, and saying nothing. "No. You haven't. And shit I don't blame you for not knowing what it's like out there, and I don't blame you for being born behind these walls. I'm just asking you not to blame me for being born in an irradiated hell-hole, full of men and women who would gut you with a plastic spork for a handful of rotten, two-century-old dog food." The Squire continued twiddling his thumbs. "Huh, I like you kid. You shoot straight, and you seem pretty smart, but that doesn't always make up for a lack of perspective." Sweetheart wiped the collecting beads of sweat from his forehead. "So when you're not hanging out with prisoners, what do you do around here?" He asked. Ramsey Fink removed his black uniform hat, and scratched his stubby brown-haired scalp.

"I...tinker some. Plus I do some minor repairs on weapons and armor at the Foundry. Most of what I know, I learned from Dalton - he's our weapons smith there. Besides that, I learn by reading old magazines and books, but those charred pages can only show so much. I learn a lot more by hacking terminals. Especially the ones belonging to Scribes."

"Hacking, huh? You're a mischievous little dude, you know that?" Ramsey crossed his arms and smiled proudly, as if he were posing for the cover of 'Rob-Co Fun'. "What kinds of things do you learn from hacking?" Sweetheart asked.

"The kind of stuff that no one would tell a Squire. For one example, I learned why they want your Pip-Boy."

"Yeah, me too, and I didn't even have to hack anything to figure that one out. They're tech-freaks. Everyone knows the Brotherhood will take anything that lights up and beeps."

"Almost every piece of technology on that device can be, and in most cases has been, reproduced by our Scribes. The only quality the Pip-Boy has that makes it truly unique, is that it's also a key." Sweetheart's hairless brow furled helping his face form a look of confusion.

"A key?" He asked.

"Yeah, a key. A key made specifically in order to open vaults, like the one that's probably laying just beneath our feet. Vault 52. There's a secret passage which leads straight to it, located in the base's catacombs."

"Okay so they cut this thing off of me, they open the vault up and then what? What do they expect to find inside? Some pre-war candy and board games?" Sweetheart watched as Ramsey Fink peered through the small window in the jail door. The squire, now confident of their solitude, walked right up the rusty containment bars, and held on to them with two fingerless gloved hands.

"Elder Cyrus was my hero when I was younger, he's the one who inspired my dream of being an Elder when I grow up. But…when I heard of the truce with the mutants, I couldn't believe it. No one would tell me anything, not even Dalton – at least, not at first. They all just kept saying that the Elder knows what he's doing. 'Trust the Elder'. And I did trust the Elder, but I couldn't trust the mutants. So I hacked his personal terminal, and I read his outgoing and incoming messages. It isn't a truce at all, it's an alliance." Ramsey paused, and hung his head low in shame. "Vault 52 houses a huge reserve of the forced evolutionary virus. They want to create more of those mutants, those…monsters."

"Heroes don't exist in this world, kid. I don't know if they ever did. Just a little bit ago you told me that you're not here to guard me. If that's true, then why _are_ you here?"

"That's easy." Ramsey leaned away from the prison bars, and whistled sharply down the row of empty cells. Sweetheart heard a feint humming sound approaching quickly. In mere moments a multicolored, floating robot with limp, dangling arms zoomed into the room, and halted before the young Squire. "How'd it go?" Ramsey asked.

"Complete blackout." A strange voice that sounded as if it should be accompanying a bagpipe, emanated from the bot's external speakers. "Here are the gentleman's belongings." The strange robot held out a gun bag with the long barrel of a Syringer Rifle poking out. Sweetheart smiled.

"Nurse…" Sweetheart whispered to himself.

"Awesome." Ramsey wrapped his arms around the awkwardly constructed bot and unlatched the dull red tool box attached to its back. He reached into its depthy interior, and a second later his hand returned clinched around a small box of bobby pins, which he then pocketed. Next he grabbed the Syringer rifle out of Sweetheart's personal belongings, along with an ammunitions belt. He pulled from it a rusty projectile syringe. "Is this one lock-joint?" He asked the trapped raider.

"What the fuck kid? What are you gonna do with that?" Sweetheart scooted deeper into the cell.

"I'm going to stop Cyrus. In order to do so, I need to get rid of that Pip-Boy. According to you, a lock-joint syringe should do the trick. Now unless you want me to shoot you with whatever the hell else you have in this belt, I suggest you answer me." Ramsey explained.

"Damn kid. You would've made it out there in the wastes just fine, you know that?" Ramsey smiled. "They're labeled by color. It's the orange one." Ramsey loaded the orange syringe carefully into the rifle named Nurse. He aimed it at Sweetheart's arm, and pulled the trigger. "Good luck." Said the raider.

\+ "Is that a detonator?" Paladin Reece asked?

"Why yes it is. You're very astute, for a brute. What gave it away the bright red button?" Montecrief responded, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Ha-ha, astute brute? Oh man." Agrippina cackled.

"So what now? You're just going to blow this place up with us in it? Is that it?" Rocky asked.

"Of course not. This isn't a ship, and I most certainly am not her captain anymore. With that said, I do plan on detonating this entire compound shortly, so we had best…fuck." Montecrief's ordinarily poised tone and demeanor evaporated suddenly, like an ice cream cone being suddenly exposed to the surface of the sun.

"We had best _fuck_?!" Demanded Shipley.

"Mr. Montecrief." The group of Brotherhood emissaries and company turned to face the doorway. From out the door to Montecrief's office and down the spiraled ivory-railed stairway and straight to the front doors, they heard the voice of a stranger echo along the same route backwards. Montecrief was first through the door and into the hall, followed by Rocky, Agrippina, Reece, and the members of Intrepid squad. Immediately after entering the hallway they found themselves staring over an ivory railing and down at several dozen raiders, all dressed in tattered business apparel, ranging from browns and blacks to greys and whites. Despite their business-formal style, they still ornamented themselves with certain raider commonalities such as metal pauldrons, macgyvered weapons, and even the occasional disembodied Yao Guai or Deathclaw limb. The foremost one of them was a stocky, ebony skinned man wearing a sleeveless silver blazer serving to expose his crude arm tattoos. The tattooed raider began sauntering away from the group of muttering and growling waste pirates, and towards the bottom of the stairway. As he approached, he began knuckling together his heavy metal power fists, producing a rather unpleasant clanking sound. He stopped when he was about an arm's length away from the staircase, permitting them to see parts of his smirking face through the openings in his steel-gray medieval helm.

"That's some kind of get-up, Montecrief. Regrettably, I don't believe you and I are quite the match - size-wise or otherwise. Looks to me like you've become just as emaciated as your forces, I fear. It's funny, though, I always thought you slavers ate well. From what I hear your trade has never been bigger. Not since before the Civil War that preceded the Great War." The ebony skinned man tilted his helmet upwards, keeping care to conceal his face, and fired a saliva bullet onto the wooden floors.

"I take it you're well-read then, er… Alabaster, is it?"

"Correct on both fronts."

"Well then. In your no doubt genre-spanning, and time-consuming studies, I reckon that you would have stumbled across a book or two on anatomy or biology. Medicine perhaps."

"I'm familiar with all three. What of them?"

"Well before the war you see, just like after it, there were a large number of unfortunate individuals afflicted by cancer. The only difference was that before the war, the tumorous growth could, at times, be combated using radiation therapy. Common side effects of even low levels of radiation exposure in this form, included intense nausea and appetite loss, both of which led to severe weight loss."

"Mm, I see. So that explains your physique. Leaving me with another, far more pressing concern." The tattooed man named Alabaster erected an armored finger towards Rocky, while still addressing Montecrief. "Who is that lumbering green fellow there?"

"His name-"

"My friends call me Rocky." Rocky interrupted, forcing Alabaster to address him directly.

" _Friends_? It's articulate. Interesting." Alabaster's finger slowly drifted to his side. "Now look, Montecrief, I get that you're real torn up over losing like this. I mean, I know you had a really swell thing going on here for a while. But hey, so did Diamond Inc., back before Rob-Co bought them out."

"You're comparing a consensually agreed upon and signed sale between owners of corporations, to you and your raiders killing my people, and destroying my property."

"Don't be so naïve, Montecrief. In this god-forsaken world, those two circumstances are virtually identical, when you incorporate sufficient context. Our world lacks the law and government of that Old World. It's all about enterprise; I would think a post-apocalyptic slaver would understand that concept better than most. Don't tell me you've got the Old World Blues, Monte."

"You would too, had you been born in that glorious world…" Montecrief muttered to himself in a wistful tone. "But as you can see I don't have any slaves anymore. We run a small settlement to protect ghouls from the likes of humans like you."

"Yes, I had noticed the lack of human property present. Regardless, it looks as though you've failed at your newly found purpose as well. Your ghouls have all either perished or fled into the wastes." Said Alabaster.

"What do you want from us?" Rocky growled, redirecting the dialogue.

"Oh, yes thank you for reminding me mutant, I'd nearly forgotten. This morning I learned of an unfortunate situation, which took place not far from here, on a road named Merchant's Highway. Three of my best employees had been sent to ambush a caravan and steal a certain device for a client of mine. Two of the three returned later, informing me that the third had chosen to take the device for himself; that's a big no-no you see. The other members of his party tell me he was last seen being apprehended by a group of Brotherhood soldiers, who suddenly appeared from the surrounding hills as if on cue. Interestingly enough, the very next thing I hear, my spies are radioing in, saying that they've spotted a group of Brotherhood Knights entering Montecrief House without altercation. Now perhaps I'm being a bit paranoid when I say this, but I'm starting to believe that you may have something to do with this, Montecrief."

"You're wrong." Rocky spoke. "This group of soldiers came with me, from the Brotherhood base. We were sent to discuss terms for a truce with Montecrief and his slavers."

"You mean to tell me the Brotherhood of Steel is working with a super mutant? I don't care how intelligent you are, there's no way they would do that. Those tech-freaks wouldn't work with your kind even if it meant perpetual peace throughout the wastes." Alabaster replied.

"If these soldiers were the same as those other soldiers, then how did I end up with them? How did she? Your story didn't have anything in it about us." Rocky pointed out, gesturing to Agrippina. Alabaster thought for a long moment, with his hands on his hips and his eyes studying the wooden panels beneath his boots. He breathed in deep, and turned to face a specific pair of raiders in his band.

"Well," spoke the first one, who was missing a hand. "I don't know, maybe he was hiding, or something."

"Yeah, I mean they were all hiding at first Alabaster. All of 'em were." Spoke the second, much stouter one of the two. Alabaster faced Rocky and Montecrief once again.

"Their story doesn't make much more sense than yours does, I'll grant you that. But I can't prove your story any more than I can theirs. What I do know is, somebody is trying to play games with the Alabaster Raiders, and I can't have that. We were hired to steal a device called a Pip-Boy, from a traveling trader named Kelly Marshall, of Marshall's Miscellany. The only other person who knew we had that contract was the anonymous person, or persons, who contracted us. According to my boys here, the Brotherhood of Steel knew exactly where to be, and exactly when to be there."

"Well Rocky, looks like we've discovered our mystery culprit." Montecrief decided.

"It's impossible, no brother would hire raiders to attack a helpless caravan!" Reece exclaimed. "It's completely unheard of, it must have been somebody else. It has to be." Reece swore.

"Until today a super mutant working with the Brotherhood of Steel was also unheard of." Montecrief asserted.

"God dammit!" Alabaster exclaimed, slamming his power fists together in frustration. "I've heard enough conjecture. I want all of you to walk down here and forfeit your weapons. Now." Dutch, Shipley, Agrippina, and Reece all looked to Rocky for direction. The mutant began to take his first step down the staircase when the slender ghoul beside him abruptly slipped passed him and down the steps.

"Now, now Alabaster. Let's not get swept up in the moment, yeah? You came here to ruin my day, not to end theirs early. Why don't you and I discuss this like the gentlemen we pretend to be, huh?" Montecrief reached the final step as he finished his proposition, landing him directly in front of the pack of wild hyenas and their vicious alpha.

"Discuss? Like gentlemen?" Alabaster asked with a sideways smile.

"That's right." Montecrief responded, pairing smiles with the raider leader, before turning his back to Alabaster on his way to the dining room. "Why don't we just sit -" Alabaster drew one power fist back and rammed it in between Montecrief's shoulder blades, incapacitating the lanky ghoul.

"You know what Montecrief? I've decided I don't much care for what you have to say anymore. Hell, I don't even care whether you did or didn't have something to do with all of this brahminshit. I'm beginning to think this whole day may have just been fate's way intervening in our affairs and giving me a chance to end our quarreling for good."

Montecrief writhed around on the floor, spitting up blood and clutching at his jacket. He tugged on his interior pockets until a tiny detonator spilled into his hand. Turning onto his back, he held the detonator to the ceiling as a threat to Alabaster.

The gathered raiders began laughing boisterously and slapping their knees, while pointing at the clearly bewildered ghoul.

"Y'know what's one of the most common misconceptions in the wastes? That all raiders are stupid. I suppose it's true for most small, loosely organized groups. But I've always taken pride in the intelligence of my boys and gals. How do you think we got the drop on you so easily? We found your secret getaway tunnel, leading to lake just outside the city. It lead us straight into your basement, where we found your assortment of explosives. That amount of bang would have surely ended all life for a good acre." Alabaster signaled for two of his men to grab the half-conscious ghoul, and lift him to his feet. "Up, up, up, come on now Monte. There we are." Alabaster swung a vicious right hand directly into Montecrief's ribcage, followed by a left directly to his stomach. "I'd allow you your final words, Montecrief, but I doubt they'd be intelligible after the shots you just took." The raiders laughed together, sadistically feeding on Montecrief's pain.

"Tisagonnurt…" Montecrief mumbled, interrupting the raiders laughs.

"Come again?" Alabaster leaned in close to Montecrief's mouth.

"Tis is gona, hrt…" Montecrief croaked. His typically faint greenish glow began to burn bright, emanating from every exposed part of his body. The air around him seemed to boil as his facial orifices were engulfed in shooting neon-green light. The two raiders who had been ordered to hold him retreated back to their ranks, cowering with the rest of the awe-struck pirates. The entire house started to vibrate then, its wooden support beams struggling to contain the amount of power being emitted from the glowing ghoul. A noise like a thousand passing cars flooded the ears of all present, prompting some to shield their ears, whilst leaving others too shocked to move. Rocky suddenly snapped out of the trance which had infected the whole room. In a single motion, he pulled Agrippina back into the office and behind cover while signaling for the trio of Knights to fall back as well. Meer moments after they took cover, Montecrief's visual ballad reached its violent crescendo, and the house imploded and crumbled from the sudden release of force. The group fell straight through the shattering floorboards and into the kitchen on the first floor. Rocky wrapped his arms around Agrippina tightly, protecting her from the fall, while the BOS Knights, encased in their power armor exoskeletons, thudded harmlessly against the floor. Rocky remained grounded momentarily, awaiting the possible arrival of an extra concussive blast.

"Greeny…you're laying…on me." Agrippina struggled.

"Oh, my fault. I was just-" Rocky stammered.

"If you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask, y'know?" Agrippina kidded, forcing Rocky to smile.

"Heads up." Dutch called. He was standing amongst the wreckage strewn about the foyer. Rocky helped Agrippina to her feet and the two met up with Knights Reece, Shipley, and Dutch, who were sorting through the mixture of rubble and human remains.

"I found him!" Dutch called. "He's under this beam!" The group huddled around the spot Dutch pointed out. Rocky grabbed the long support beam and lifted it above his waist, while Reece reached beneath the raised beam and pulled Montecrief's bare body from the debris.

"Monte! Speak Monte!" Agrippina pleaded.

"Jenny, I need you to administer a double dose of stimpacks." Dutch ordered.

"No. It won't work." Reece asserted.

"Maybe not, but I don't see another option." Shipley responded.

"No, what I mean is it won't work on him. He's a Ghoul. They require a high radiation level to survive. I think he completely depleted himself." Rocky carefully considered Reece's information, and the kneeling Knights stood up beside the withered ghoul's body. Rocky hastily pushed passed the two of them, grabbed Montecrief, and slung him over his shoulder. He sprinted outside towards the compound's only wooden gate, and hung Montecrief over the pool of glowing irradiated water.

He whispered. "I hope this works." And then he dropped Montecrief's unconscious body in. The trailing group arrived just in time to witness Montecrief sink to the bottom. They surrounded the pool with bated breath, scanning the water's surface for the slightest disturbance. Eventually they spotted one, in the form of a duo of bubbles bursting at the surface, followed by another duo, and then a trio. Before long, there were dozens of bubbles rising to the top of the water rapidly.

"Bubbles!" Agrippina gleefully squealed.

"Hyuh-huh!" Montecrief's raisin like head emerged from the pool, gasping for air. Agrippina applauded, the Knights all sighed, and Rocky fell to his knees in relief.

"Monte! You're not dead!" Agrippina pointed out.

"I…I guess not." The water treading ghoul glanced himself over. "None of you would happen to have a spare set of clothes on your person, would you?"

+117. According to the then most recent census mandated by Head Scribe Rourke, that's how many Brotherhood Knights were stationed at Fort Duke. That's 117 uniquely fitted sets of power armor, 117 different weapon preferences and modifications, and 117 winey babies who all wanted their diapers changed, and their power helmets repaired at the same time. Now if Fort Duke had say, 5 armorers, or 3 smithys, or even 2 professional tinkerers, then Dalton Heyward's job wouldn't have been so difficult. But, to the lonely metal workers annoyance, they had but one, and it was him. When the issue had been brought to the Elder's attention, Cyrus had permitted Dalton to choose one Scribe to shadow him and learn all that he could teach. He of course chose Ramsey Fink, a Squire in his twelfth year with a penchant for mechanical invention to be his assistant. Ramsey eagerly agreed, as Dalton had expected him to; Fink spent most of his free time in the Foundry anyway. For Dalton, the abhorrently large quantity of jobs wasn't so much the issue, as was the creativity-retardant quality of them. Luckily, as a Sergeant he outranked most of the Knights at the fort, and so for the jobs he didn't do himself or assign to Fink, he simply placed in the back of his never-gonna-finish-ever list, until finally the lower ranking Knights were forced to simply buy a new one from Quartermaster Garret. Every now and then, amongst all of the standard plasma rifle barrel fusions, and the jammed power fists, a high ranking individual would waltz into his metal lair and bring him something of extreme intrigue. This time, however, his intrigue for the job quickly converted to suspicion of its requestor. Not wanting to unknowingly become the feline in this tale of curiosity, Heyward cast all dangerous questions aside and completed the majority of his job. Before the final piece of metal was shaped however, he sent away for a list of materials that only his friend and close confidant Liona Daughtry could retrieve from her lab. The small hand on his pocket watch had made an entire revolution along its numbers before she arrived with her scribe in training, Shannon Price.

"Hey Dalton. We've got most of the things from your list. All except the flamer fuel though. My bet is Hummingsworth got to it again." Liona pointed to a rare yet apparently clean spot on Dalton's workbench and Shannon filled it with the box of requested materials.

"Thanks you guys. Thanks a lot. Hey umm…Shannon, right?"

"Yeah... That's me." Spoke the raven haired girl, in a tone somewhere between an inside voice and a whisper.

"Cool thanks Shannon. Did your granddaddy send you down here?" Shannon looked at Liona whose face mirrored her quizzical look.

"No Dalton, I asked her to come with me. You're being especially odd today." The two scribes giggled together.

"Sorry, I'm just being a little weird, I guess. Hey, so this is all I needed from you Shannon, you can leave now." Shannon once again looked to check with Liona. The Senior Scribe nodded at the Initiate.

"Its fine Shannon, obviously the Sergeant has something he wants to tell me in private. I'll meet you in the Infirmary in about a half an hour so we can go over those results with Head Scribe Rourke." Shannon was a nervous girl to say the least, whose usual posture was similar to that of a cowering turtle. The fifteen year-old scribe initiate held her head so low then that it began to look like she was attempting to perform a unique form of ventriloquism, designed to help avoid all visual exposure. She mumbled something along the lines of 'ok bye' and rushed out of the Forgery.

"Dalton you could have asked her more politely. Shannon is really…shy."

"I know, I'm sorry but just - Wait one sec…" Dalton crawled into the nook beneath his workstation and began gathering several metal somethings, then stood with his hands behind his back.

"Liona, I know you're pretty handy with a 10 millimeter. But trust me when I say, when you see what Dalton-Style Industries has in store for you next, you'll never shoot that old thing again. In fact, you won't have to shoot a gun ever again!" As usual, Dalton grew more and more excited by the anticipation he concocted, while Liona grew more and more exhausted.

"WhatnowDalton? Don't tell me you built me another electric glove thingy. That defective piece of junk never did anything but electrocute me when I used it."

"No, no, no, of course not another shock gauntlet. Although… No, never mind. It doesn't matter. What I have for you today L, is none other than the Puppeteer Sleeve!" Dalton revealed an odd glowing glove and handed it to Liona. She grabbed it and slowly slipped her right hand into its finger slots. As soon as her hand filled it, she could feel the sleeve shrink and conform to her arm until it fit skin tight.

"Dalton, what is this? It looks…like a…glove. How is this even considered a weapon?"

"No, no, see that's the point Liona! It doesn't shoot bullets or lasers or even plasma! This weapon, fires _beams_."

"Beams? Like… Beams of light?"

"Well, the beams are pretty bright, and they do have some color to 'em, but no. More like beams of…control. All of its commands are gesture based. Check it out. Say you wanted to grab that wrench over there. All you have to do is point your index finger at it. But make sure to think about grabbing it." Liona awkwardly and timidly pointed her finger at the wrench. In an instant, a dark blue beam glided across the air and made contact with the metal tool. Liona kept her index finger held out in front of her, and after realizing that she had closed them, she opened her eyes to find that the wrench was now suspended in the air above the counter where it once lay. She swayed her arm to the left, and the wrench and the beam that connected it to the Puppeteer sleeve swayed to the left as well. Smiling now, she began playing with the wrench, swinging it up into the air and releasing it at the peak of its momentum only to fire a new beam to catch it before it fell to the floor.

"You likey?" Dalton asked.

"Considering how it hasn't shocked me, burned me, or covered me in a slime of unknown origin yet, yeah I'd say I do." Liona giggled and dropped the wrench back where she found it.

"I knew you would! I've been working on that sleeve for a few years now in my spare time, just trying to get it right, y'know?"

"Why does it say 1-2-5 on the top of the glove? Are there other gestures?"

"The 1 is for one finger, that's what you just did. The 2 is for two fingers. If you form a gun shape with your fingers, y'know with your pointer and your middle one extended together, it will fire a blue blast stronger than any plasma or laser bolt. But you've gotta be careful, cuz it'll kill the battery quick." Liona aimed her finger at the same dummy that Rocky had destroyed the last time she had visited Dalton. "Don't worry, same as before, the sleeve will know when you want it to shoot." Liona took a moment to brace herself, since she was unsure of how loud it was going to be, and fired. A star-bright blue ball of energy zipped from the ends of her fingers and immediately made contact with the dummy, which was disintegrated with just as much immediacy.

"Woah! Dalton this is crazy! What do five fingers do?" Liona asked excitedly.

"Like I said I've been working on this for a while now, and I knew it had the capability to do more than just help geezers and sluggards grab inanimate objects that lay just beyond reach. I wanted to make it so the wielder of the Puppeteer sleeve could assume control over a living, breathing, pissing human being! Or anything with a brain, really. When you extend all 5 fingers, the sleeve will create a sort of neural link between the user's brain and the sleeve itself which will then fire a large beam. Now, if what you hit with the beam also has a brain, this doohickey'll be able to play them like a puppet, by overriding their central nervous system and whatnot. Hence the exceedingly clever moniker: The Puppeteer Sleeve."

"Yes. 'Puppeteer'. I think get it now." Liona admitted. "Can I try it out?"

"No way L. In fact, you shouldn't ever have to use it. It's extremely dangerous man. I'm talkin' like dangling a Salisbury steak in front of a Yao Guai cave type of dangerous. If the person you fire the beam at dies, then the neural connection will be severed, leaving your consciousness stranded, and you'll be coma-toast."

"You mean comatose." Liona corrected.

"Yeah huh, sure. That's what I said. Coma-toast."

Liona momentarily prepared a verbal volley, only to resign herself to momentary silence. "Dalton, how does any of this work? How did you even know how to create something like this? This is a bit more advanced than your average rifle repair job."

"Well I am not able to say exactly how Dalton Style Industries was able to come across certain schematics…"

"Shut up Dalton! You have to tell me. This is incredibly useful and advanced technology. We need to report this to Head Scribe Rourke!" Liona decided.

"Slow down L. I'll tell you, but you're not gonna believe me. You remember that day I told you my mama was with the Outcasts, back when Elder Lyons was around? Well she believed, just like all of them Outcasts did, that technology was to be the Brotherhoods main focus, even before or at the cost of, human lives. She led a team of soldiers called Inquisitors who were commonly sent out to investigate strange happenings near the Capital Wasteland. On one of these missions, they were sent to investigate the legitimacy of several reports, where wasters in this farm town north of Old Olney, were saying that during certain hours of the night, a giant, bright beam of light could be seen shooting down near their brahmin fields. They would wake up and run to the spot where they saw the light, only to find that everything in the fields looked as normal as it did any other night, so off they went back to their beds. The only problem was, the following day when they counted their Brahmin, they were short by a few. So my mama and her group of Outcast Brothers made camp for a few nights up there. They couldn't find any sign of the light for a half a week. Not until the fourth night, when my mama was walking the perimeter of the farm. All of a sudden she not only saw the beam of light, but was completely engulfed by it! Next thing she knew she was waking up in a bright metal room, full of Brahmin! She spent the first few hours just trying to figure out where she was, and what had happened to her, when finally she heard voices speaking in strange tongues. Eventually the voices, which seemed to be arguing, made their way down to the room full of Brahmin. She braced herself for a fight, but before they opened the door she heard a bunch of shots being fired from what sounded like a laser weapon. The door opened and she met Tai'ekr, a little green alien and her eventual savior. Tai had been studying us humans for a millennia, and had seen our journey from the cave men all the way to the days of waste, and in doing so had somehow grown to love humanity. To make a long story shorter, Tai and my mama became good friends and he was able to help her escape, but not before teaching her about some particularly nifty alien technology. The schematic that would eventually become the Puppeteer, was one of 'em."

"Wow… If any of that were true then I'd be really freaked out right now." Liona said.

"It is true! See I knew you wouldn't believe me!" Liona threw her head back and cackled loudly. "Whatever. Take these." Dalton pulled a clutched fist from his apron pocket and opened it over the table.

"What are these?" Liona picked one of the little blue glowing capsules up.

"Those are alien power cells. But since you won't believe that, just think of them as really frickin strong batteries."

"Well I don't know if they're from outer space, but I've never seen anything like them before. Thanks Dalton."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it dude."

"I've got to ask though, why give this to me? This technology could get you an immediate promotion." Dalton walked past Liona to the entrance of his Smithery. He glanced passed each shoulder, then promptly shut the door and locked it.

"What are you doing?" Asked Liona.

"There's too many people around here. I can't have the wrong person hearing what I'm gonna tell you. They'd think I'm a traitor or something."

"What do you mean? Dalton what's going on?"

"That's what I've been wondering too. Liona, somethings not right. Earlier on this week, I got an order from the Elder to make him a new set of power armor."

"So what? You make armor for everyone here, why would the Elder be any different?"

"It's not that the requestor was odd, but the request itself. I looked over the order and the fit specifications, and well… just look for yourself." The diminutive smith walked over to the farthest side of the workshop and pressed a code into his giant safe's door. With a sharp tug he managed to pull it open, allowing Liona to see inside. She walked inside the safe room, barely paying any mind to all of the weapons and technologies spread throughout its dark interior as she stepped over them. All of her attention was focused solely on the massive power armor frame in the center of the room. She touched its thick metal carapace as if had she not, she wouldn't have believed what her eyes were seeing.

"It's for a super mutant - for Rocky!" She turned to Dalton who was leaning against the safe door.

"That's what I thought too, at first." His voice echoed into the safe room. "Until Cyrus came by the shop today, and requested several more of those suckers. Now I'm not a detective or nothing. But that sure sounds like he's expecting to arm more mutants with these things."

"What mutants?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"The LEO program? No. We haven't had any new subjects since Rocky. This doesn't make any sense. There are no other mutants."

"Liona, that's not the only thing…"

"What do you mean? What else? Dalton, tell me."

"It's just that… Fink never came in today."

"Ramsey? Is he with his mother?"

"No, no one's seen him since last night. Normally I'd just assume that he was out building something inadvisable with Edgar, but before he went home yesterday he told me something that he made me promise not to tell anyone." Dalton hesitated to continue. "He, he told me that he had been snooping around personal terminals again. The Elders terminal to be exact."

"That little…" Liona fumed.

"It's my own damn fault, L! I shouldn't have been talking to him about that job from Cyrus. He was just curious, and heck so was I. Not to mention I needed his help constructing the damn thing. He told me that he saw messages on the Elders terminal, being sent to and being received from an anonymous user. They were talking about the LEO program, and discussing plans for opening some vault numbered 52 that's supposed to hold a shit load of FEV. L, they were talking about creating more mutants."

"No. I mean, Cyrus couldn't… He wouldn't… Who was he talking to? Who would want more mutants?" Liona sat down at a stool near Dalton's workbench, and dragged her fingers through her messy red curls.

"Fink did what he does best, he hacked, and he hacked a little bit deeper, until he found a location. The unknown user was from Warrenton."

"That's where Rocky came from, before…before we found him. There's a mutant camp there." Liona remembered.

"Yeah, but how did you find Rocky, L? I mean…how did you know where he was going to be when you found him?" Dalton pressed.

"We were told that there were a couple of mutants roaming the roads to the north."

"Told by _who_ , Liona?" Dalton's eyes were intense, more so than Liona had ever taken note of before.

"Cyrus." Liona was shocked by her own conclusion. "We had been working with Cyrus and the Knight Reconnaissance team for weeks. We were looking for a couple of secluded mutants for the first LEO procedures. One night I was finishing some last-minute work in my lab when the Elder came in. He told me that the team had found what we were looking for, and next thing I know I'm sedating a super mutant... Rocky."

"Oh shit. Oh shit this is bad, huh L? I knew something was up when Cyrus gave me those damn schematics! I knew it man!" The smith removed his bandana and dried his sweaty, balding scalp with it.

"We need to find-" Liona stopped midsentence. Dalton noticed Liona's eyes shift focus to something behind him. Looking over his right shoulder Dalton spotted Edgar, Ramsey's personal scrap-bot companion, hovering in his doorway.

"Edgar?" Spoke Dalton.

"Sorry lad, but we've no time for formalities. Mr. Heyward. Ms. Liona. I came here to request your aid, on behalf of my little friend and esteemed creator, Ramsey Fink."

"Where is he? What did he do, Edgar? Is he okay?" Liona asked frantically.

"The boy's fine, for the moment. Although, he was complaining about a slight tummy ache earlier. I'll let him know you asked about him, I'm sure he would appreciate - Ah! Damn these verbose verbal emitters! Must you always carry on tangentially, Edgar?" The bot chastised himself, while flailing its drooping arms around aimlessly.

"Edgar, focus buddy. What happened?" Dalton pressed.

"Ramsey and I went to visit a certain prisoner this morning. He wanted to take the prisoner's Pip-Boy as far away from here as possible so that the Elder couldn't find it. We didn't get very far… The Elder caught Ramsey, but I managed to escape. Ramsey told me to come to you, Sgt. Dalton. He said you knew everything." Edgar remembered.

"I'm starting to feel like I don't know anything at all. Why would Fink bother taking a Pip-Boy from some random waster? What does that have to do with the Elder?" Dalton inquired.

"Because he knows why the Elder needs the Pip-Boy. He knows it's the only way to unlock the vault." Liona stated blankly, rummaging through old thoughts.

"That vault 52 Fink was talking about? Does anyone even know where it is?" Heyward asked the room.

"No. Only the Elder and a few high ranking individuals know that." Liona admitted.

"As do I. Courtesy of Mr. Fink of course. I am rather surprised that I, Edgar the sundry scrap bot, was able to learn of such delicate information before the likes of you two, a Senior Scribe and a Knight Sergeant. Forgive me my ego, but-"

"You're being verbose again, Edgar." Liona reminded the bot. "And a little arrogant as well."

"Seriously dude, remind Ramsey to check those emitters when all of this is done." Dalton advised.

"My apologies. The vault is beneath your feet, - underground that is - below the Steel Chapel. Has been ever since it was known as the Duke Chapel. Did you know this was a university back before those confounded, atomic life-enders made their catastrophic arrival? Duke University was once a marvelous…-"

Ignoring the bot as best she could, Liona spoke to Dalton. "It was under the Steel Chapel all of this time…Edgar." Liona interrupted the robot's tangent.

"Err…Yes, madam?"

"Ramsey: Where did they take him?" Liona asked, refocusing the robot.

"Upon realizing that we would never make it out of Brotherhood controlled land without getting caught, Mr. Fink ordered me to come here and get help. Besides him being captured, I know of little else. Although, peculiarly enough…" The robot trailed off.

"What else, Edgar? And no more tangents!" Dalton ordered.

"No, no, of course not. It's just that it was very suspicious is all. The search party that found us, they were being led by -" The Robot paused. "Someone's coming. I need to hide."

"Wait! Led by who?" Liona begged, but the robot had already administered his stealth field, and vanished. Seconds later three power armored Knights came stomping through the Forgery's door, armed with laser rifles.

"Sergeant Heyward. We are here as ordered by the Elder to retrieve a custom suit of Power Armor: The T-88 Colossus." The soldier presented to Dalton a requisition form in one hand, and payment for the job contained in a sack in the other hand. Dalton retrieved the sack first, like any good smith would, while Liona snatched the order form from the soldier. "Excuse me Ms. Daughtry, but that's supposed to be for his eyes only." Liona continued reading the form until she was satisfied, then handed it to Dalton who pocketed it.

"Alright boys, right this way." The smith guided.

"Dalton!" Liona reminded forcefully. The smith never looked back at Liona as he walked toward the giant vault door. He entered the vault's code making sure to obscure the number pad from the prying eyes of the soldiers, then he pulled the door open revealing to them the T-88 Colossus armor.

"Ho-ly, shit." Remarked the first soldier to see it. The other two soldiers, after hearing the first ones reaction, hurried to get a look at the armor as well.

"Goddamn… All that for one man?" Asked a second Knight.

"No way it's just for one man. Maybe two." Stated the third Knight.

"Two? What would be the purpose of having two people inside of the same suit of armor?"

"Well I don't know. Maybe…oh! Like in that one issue of Astoundingly Awesome! Yeah, like the one where the two evil scientists built that two headed mech so they could defeat the aliens. You remember, right Josh?"

"First of all, they weren't evil, they were just two genius engineers trying to save the world from an extraterrestrial attack. And second of all, this suit only has one head compartment. So how are two people going to fit in it? And don't say on each other's shoulders. If you say on each other's shoulders I am going to smack you, Joey. I don't even care that we share the same mother."

"Would you two shut the fuck up already? Who cares why it's so big. Jesus, fuck. I knew I should have applied for a new assignment rather than work with you two numbskulls. What I'm trying to figure out is how we're going to pick the damn thing up and carry it out of here." The three soldiers huddled around the armor inside of the vault, and began gripping it from several angles.

"Do we have to take it all the way to the catacombs? I hate going down there. Too many ghosts, y'know?" Joey worried.

"Ghosts? That's it. Come here. I'm smacking you." Josh decided. During their squabbling, Dalton saw an opportunity present itself. He slammed the vault door shut with all of his might and spun the handle until he was confident it was locked completely. Immediately the trapped Knights could be heard shouting incoherently at the door while striking it forcefully.

"Well, that should buy us some time." Dalton sighed in relief and Liona smiled.

"Alright, come on. I'm not sure how long that door will hold with three angry men in power armor slamming into it. It won't be long before they break it down." Liona speculated. "Edgar. Are you still here?" The floating robot disabled his stealth field, appearing directly behind the senior scribe.

"Of course, milady." He spooked the young scribe, causing her to yelp.

"Don't just appear behind someone like that Edgar! You're likely to give them a heart attack."

"I apologize Ms. Liona." The banging from the trapped Knights continued in the background as they spoke.

"Forget about that for now, Edgar. Dalton, did you hear where they said they were going to take it?"

"The catacombs? I've never been there. Have you?"

"Yes. Once, when my mother passed. I know the way but I won't know how to get to the vault from there. That's why we need Edgar. Ramsey being as clever as he is, I'd bet he stores all of his recovered hacking data on him." Liona pointed to the bot's glass encased brain, which had been a unique addition to the Eyebot, taken from the remains of a decommissioned Robo-Brain.

"As per usual, you are correct Ms. Liona. I have the complete underground layout of the catacombs which Mr. Fink acquired from the Elder's terminal."

"Perfect." The smashing from the vault grew louder. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7 - The Catacombs

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 7 - The Catacombs**

\+ "Yo, yo, yo! Anonymous Valley Chey here, your resident Queen of Claptrap. How are my pleasant peasants doing today? ...Good, yeah? Well of course you are! Now that there's one less raider gang/mercenary group/not-so-legit Company calling our sweet Carolines home, that is. I mean honestly, those dudes were about as confusing to me as I was to my parents when I was 13. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then let me refresh you on the now defunct, Alabaster Raiders. Or, if you prefer it, the Alabaster Raiding Co. It all began back in Alabaster Alabama - Yup, you heard right! These clever birds named themselves after a prewar city which was named after a white rock. Clever! Anywho, so a whole bunch of Alabama no-goods decided to take up arms together so they could start a 'business' marauding across the interior south-east. They operated in similar fashion to most mercenary groups, except most mercenaries have at least a sliver of morality left to preserve. Their first leader, a dude who called himself Alabaster, fancied himself a regular business man. He wanted to model his waste-pirate gang after the likes of prewar Rob-Co and such. Y'know, cuz Mr. House just loved to send his employees around the world to rape and pillage. Business stuff, I guess. Can you imagine this guy trying to explain his business model to a group of raiders? (Mockingly) 'I mean it's not that I don't want to raid anymore guys, c'mon you know I love raiding helpless settlements. It's not that, I swear. It's just that I think I'd rather be more businesslike, y'know? Like wouldn't it be cool if we all wore like tattered pre-apocalyptic blazers and learned to read and write?' ha-ha! Anyway, fast forward through a few years and through a few new leaders - all of whom maintained the title Alabaster - and they end up here, in the Northern Carolines. They set up shop in Old Oakwood, and I think most of you know the rest by now. What some of you may not know is that these knuckle-draggers finally bit off more than they could chew. Rumor has it, that Alabaster launched a full scale attack on those assholes over at Montecrief house, completely wrecking the place! Wonderful, right? 'Let them kill each other', I hear you say. Well that's exactly what happened. Once the dust settled, I received several firsthand accounts from listeners - that's you guys, mwah - informing me that while all of the slaveholding pricks were killed in the attack, so too were the Alabaster Raiders! Oh, and this is odd: Of all of the bodies found at the compound, none of them have been confirmed to be a slave, nor were any slaves seen fleeing the scene. The result of slow business? I don't know, but if there were actually slaves, and they did make it out, I hope they all make it home safely; I'm currently having my Intern pray to our baby Buddha statue for them as we speak. But wait! Shit gets even weirder! I'm told that a group of Brotherhood soldiers accompanied by a frickin' SUPER MUTANT managed to extract Montecrief, the leader of the ghoul slavers, alive in a vertibird. I told you doubters that the tin cans were working with the muteys! Man, I'm so good. Okay so now that I've softened you all up with some good news, I think it's time I moseyed on over to the, well, not bad news per-say, but certainly…we'll call it peculiar news. How's that? Recently, and by recently I mean this very morning, I was informed by my producer slash, information gatherer slash, narcotics procurer, Quiet Allen, -say hi Allen." "Hi, Allen!" (Faintly heard in the background of the broadcast) "Alright now shut up; you're supposed to be quiet, remember? Ha-ha. He told me that an entire army of green muteys had apparently been seen near settlements along Merchant's Highway, headed towards Old Oakwood. Here's what's peculiar: They haven't attacked anybody they've come across! Hundreds of settlers must've boarded their doors and gathered their families, parents with ten-millimeters and rolling pins in hand, only to realize that the muteys wanted nothing to do with them as they marched on by. They must be headed somewhere in specific…migrating maybe? Quiet Allen, look that up for me on our information terminal, would you? Do super mutants even migrate? Regardless, here's my PSA: Please don't incite a fight with these guys! They may seem apathetic in regards to you, but give them a reason to and they'll eat you up, bones and all. Hey, maybe they'll leave the Carolines altogether, who knows. Digressing. That's enough news from this music jockey. I want you guys to know that I refrained from getting high today so I could get through all of that, so, you're welcome dudes and 'etts. Speaking of music, here's, 'That's Life' by the one the only, Frank Sinatra."

\+ Liona was growing more anxious with each passing moment. She watched impatiently as Dalton took an excessive amount of time to gather his equipment for the mission. "One more second, guys. Just need to find my - Here it is! My One Hitter Quitter!" Dalton raised a heavily modified gauss rifle into the air and began reloading it.

"Great. Let's get moving." Liona said.

"Yes, let us. There is no telling what's become of Mr. Fink." Worried Edgar.

"Don't worry, Edgar. I'm sure he's -"

"Warning: We are under attack. This is not a drill. We are under attack. All non-combatant personnel are hereby ordered to report to the Steel Chapel immediately. All Brotherhood Knights are required to report to their previously assigned defensive stations. To all Knights or Lancers not assigned a station, report to your immediate superior. All hands on deck, people. I will repeat this message." The base's intercom interrupted.

"Under attack? From who?" Dalton asked no one in particular. Liona sprinted out of the forgery to find the Steel Chapel's hallway was quickly filling up with people. The civilian children were being huddled into rooms, surrounded by squires, who were surrounded by scribes, first lab, and then field. Liona waved to Edgar and Dalton, beckoning them. Almost as soon as they were seen by a particular crowd of people, a woman with dark brown hair called out for Edgar.

"Ms. Fink…I'll meet you two at the catacombs. I've got to talk to her first. She'll be worried sick!" The robot zoomed to meet the woman in the crowd.

"Come on." Liona and Dalton weaved their way through the increasingly congested hall, until at last they made it to the portcullis gate, only to be blocked by none other than Doyle Samson, and his extra-large fit suit of power armor. "Doyle. We need to pass through the courtyard. It's urgent." Doyle turned to Liona, seeming to be stunned at first. He leaned in slightly and shouted over the cacophony of voices echoing in the great hall.

"No can do ma'am. You're a Scribe. Scribes must remain here to protect the civvies."

"Doyle, what's going on out there?" Dalton asked.

"Sergeant Heyward." Doyle chest saluted. "I am not only permitted to allow you to pass, but I'm also supposed to ask that you do so. All Knights must report to defensive positions. Didn't you two hear the intercom?"

"I will just as soon as I get out there, but I need Liona to come with me. The scribe and I are on a…secret mission." Dalton shrugged slightly to Liona.

"A secret mission? That sounds…wrong." Liona and Dalton glanced nervously at one another. Doyle rubbed his hairless, and freckled cheeks for a moment, before shrugging and saying, "Well, far be it from me to question a Knight Sergeant, and a Senior Scribe. Have fun." Doyle permitted, before stepping aside. Outside, the two saw just what was threatening the fort. From the courtyards opposite end, more mutants than any Knight present had ever seen before were approaching steadily, firing automatic rifles and missile launchers in uncoordinated volleys. They saw many dozens of Knights meeting the mutants in battle towards the center of the courtyard. The defense was currently being led by Commander Dorsey, whose team had set up an improvised command position near the Chapel, utilizing fallen stone walls and trees for cover. Hovering in the sky above were Lancer Captain Kellard's vertibird forces, firing 50mm bullets and hive missiles down at the swarming mutant tide, making only slightly noticeable dents in the attacker's lines. Dalton and Liona shuttered in unison at the sight of the gargantuan Super Mutant Behemoth who came climbing into view over the collapsed commissary building. The Behemoth's steps shook the very landscape on which he stood. He wielded an uprooted oak tree, which he swung haphazardly connecting with buildings, Brotherhood Knights, and even other mutants. The vertibirds focused fire on the mindless horror, tearing its thick hide with explosive hunks of lead. Clearly perturbed, the Behemoth picked up a fallen Knight who had been wearing T-45d power armor. He effortlessly hurled the corpse into the air, making direct contact with the foremost vertibird's tail propeller. The bird spun wildly as its pilot struggled to regain control. The machinegun operators in power armor bailed, safely plummeting to the earth, leaving the helpless pilot on a direct crash course with the Steel Chapel. Liona, operating on instinct alone, pointed her dominant hand's index finger at the falling bird. Instantly her newly acquired Puppeteer Sleeve shot a bright blue beam into the air connecting her finger to the now suspended chopper, allowing her to pull it down to earth safely behind cover with the other soldiers. Liona and Dalton hurried to the side of the vertibird. Crawling safely out of the side door, was the lancer pilot, smiling wide and laughing nervously. This brought the attention of Paladin-Commander Dorsey, who had watched the whole ordeal from afar.

"Liona. How in the fiery hell did you do that?" The Commander asked. "Never mind. Whatever it is doesn't matter right now. We could really use your assistance, Senior Scribe. With a weapon like that we could collapse these old buildings and retard the enemy's progress."

"I don't know if I can do that, Commander. I just only just -"

"Well you have to try, dammit! Liona listen to me: If you don't, the Chapel _will_ fall. We need more time to mount a proper defense." Paladin-Commander Dorsey insisted.

"L, if you focus on the foundation of the medical building, I think the sleeve is powerful enough to topple it." Sergeant Heyward recommended.

"Alright, I'll try." Liona agreed.

"Atta girl. Just like your mother would have done. Now hurry!" The Commander returned to his forces, and to his helmet's radio, which he was using to coordinate distant detachments. "I need a team of Lancers to keep the Behemoth preoccupied until I can figure out how to kill it, Kellard! And will somebody get those goddamn emergency defense turret online? Where the hell is the Star-Paladin?!" Shouted the Commander. Dalton covered Liona as she sprinted to higher ground, firing massive bolts of energy into the tightly grouped mutant ranks. They clambered atop a mound of rubble for a better view of the battlefield. Liona connected a control beam with a corner pillar of the medical building and began pulling it with all of the might that the alien device could provide. Dalton stood beside Liona providing more cover fire as the scribe struggled with the building. The enemy line was closing in on the Brotherhood forces, and on melee range, where they would easily have the advantage. After a minute of struggle with the prewar architecture, Liona finally felt the supports of the building budge just before a rocket zoomed between her and Dalton slamming into the ground behind them. The impact forced her to release her hold on the building, as she and Dalton fell from the loose rubble and onto the grass below.

"Keep going! I'll cover you, L!" Dalton reassured Liona, who stood up and quickly resumed pulling the building. Dalton focused the fire of his gauss rifle on the infirmary's other support pillars, chipping away at them with each blast.

"Dr. Rourke is going to be so pissed!" Liona joked. Just as the mutant horde stepped in front of the medical building, its structure gave out, raining thousand-pound hunks of stone on the heads of the mutant vanguard, effectively splitting their forces into two disorganized halves. "We did it, Dalton!" Liona effused. She looked to her side where she expected the smith to be standing, smiling back at her. Instead she found him lying on his back, feeling for legs which were no longer attached to his body. "Dalton!" Liona grabbed him using her Puppeteer sleeve. While dodging enemy fire, she carried him to the Brotherhood's defensive positions, and safely behind cover.

"I'm fine, L… F-flesh wound…that's all." Dalton insisted.

"We need a medic!" Liona screamed. Dorsey trotted over to the mutilated weaponsmith, accompanied by a field scribe.

"We'll take care of him, Liona. You two may have given us all a fighting chance against these bastards."

"L…" Dalton weakly whispered. "L…" He whispered again.

"Dalton I'm right here. You're going to be fine. The medic's applying stimpacks right now." Liona tried her best to comfort her friend. She took hold of his hairy hand, gently.

"Save Fink…" Dalton whispered to Liona. She felt his fingers grip tighter around her hand for a moment, before going limp.

"Is…is he…" Liona stammered.

"He's gone into shock. He'll be fine, Senior Scribe, but I need to move him into the Chapel now." The field scribe responded, before rushing him to the chapel with the help of another nearby medic. Dorsey held Liona's shoulder.

"You would have made a damn good field scribe, just like your mother, Liona… But for now you've done more than enough. You'd better go back inside of the Chapel with the rest of the scribes - with Heyward. That's where you are needed." Dorsey bargained.

"No not yet… I… I've still got to - What's that?" Liona's original thought was interrupted by the sight of a giant vertibird speeding onto the battlefield from the mutant horde's flank. "It's Rocky..." Liona whispered. It flew to the front of L.C. Kellard's vertibird squadron, significantly raising the entire formation's offensive prowess. The massive vertibird, which was affectionately referred to by the Lancers as Big Bird, targeted the core of the super mutant army with a magnificent barrage of automatic laser fire and scorch missiles. As the attackers scrambled to regain their composure whilst avoiding Big Bird's steady rain of firepower, the bird's bottom opened up. Liona and Commander Dorsey watched from below as something mechanical shifted around within it.

"What is that?" Liona asked Dorsey.

"Just wait. You'll see." The Commander allowed himself to smile slightly underneath his metal helmet. From within Big Bird's belly, came an equally enormous weapon lowering on a retractable device. It extended to the nose of the bird, armed itself, and signified that it had done so with an audible tone.

"All engaged forces, fall back to the Chapel, now. To all engaged forces, fall back." Commander Dorsey ordered across the radio. The remaining fighting forces of the Brotherhood recollected in front of the Steel Chapel, where Knights continued to lay fire at the ever approaching mutant army, in the hopes to at the very least delay them. Once all forces had retreated, Dorsey gave Big Bird the OK to fire. "Let 'em have it, Big Bird!" The weapon perched near Big Birds nose fired its payload, releasing 4 focused mini nukes from four independent launchers. They whistled a sinister tune along their brief flight, which ended in a seismic impact near the unknowing super mutant Behemoth, and all of the forces surrounding him. The sudden explosion toppled the remaining buildings onto the battlefield further obstructing the invading force's progress. "Lancer Captain. I think we found your missing bird."

"We sure did, Paladin-Commander. Welcome back to the flock, Big Bird." Kellard responded.

"Ha-ha! Enough with the shocked-'nd-awed looks, everyone. We still have a fight to win. Those bastards may be crippled and limping, but they're still moving. Let's go, let's go!" Dorsey rallied his Knights to their stations. Big Bird lowered to within a leap's distance from the ground, allowing Rocky, Agrippina, Reece, Dutch, and Shipley to do so one after the other. By the time Rocky's boots made contact with the ground, Liona had already wrapped her shaking arms around his hulking frame.

"Liona," Rocky reciprocated Liona's hug, remembering just how much the young, red-headed, habitually-knocking, scribe meant to him. To see her alive reinvigorated him, and banished all his fears which had formed upon witnessing the attack on Fort Duke from the skies. Several spooked soldiers near Commander Dorsey pointed their weapons at the strange mutant, unsure if he was attempting to eat the scribe or simply squeeze her to death.

"At ease, soldiers. He's one of us." The troopers obeyed their CO, though not without exchanging a few incredulous looks amongst themselves.

Liona pulled Rocky away suddenly, unable to fully enjoy the moment while still knowing what was transpiring as they embraced.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I know you just got here, and I know there's a battle happening at the moment. But I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Rocky?" Liona asked, her gaze unwavering.

"Always, Liona." Rocky responded without hesitation.

"Elder Cyrus is planning on opening a vault, and using the FEV stored within it to create more super mutants. He also kidnapped a squire named Ramsey Fink who was trying to stop him, so now we have to go and save him." She smiled awkwardly, not expecting Rocky to believe her.

"I know, well…I knew most of that." Liona tilted her head and squinted at Rocky. "I know it doesn't make sense, but that doesn't matter right now. Where did Cyrus take Ramsey?"

"He could be at the vault already for all I know. I was heading there when the mutants attacked." Liona explained. "We may still have time, but we have to go now." Liona declared.

"Seems sort of far-fetched, if you ask me. But hey, it's only the second most ludicrous conspiracy theory I've ever heard about the Brotherhood." Said Agrippina, drawing queer looks from everyone present. "What? …I also heard you guys were interdimensional aliens from this rude barkeep in Rivet City. I think it stems from all of the metal suits, and the obsession with gathering technology, y'know?"

"Who is that?" Liona asked squinting at the faintly glowing ghoul being helped out of the Vertibird.

"That, is Montecrief. Must have finally woken up." Reece answered. "Believe it or not, that bastard kind of saved our lives today." The ghoul, who had been given an extra BOS uniform complete with a bomber jacket to wear, approached the group slowly.

"Feeling any better?" Rocky asked.

"Yeah, a little bit. Huh…I'm sorry you all had to see that back there." Montecrief apologized.

"Are you kidding me? That was so freaking cool Monte! I'd pay good caps to see that again!" Agrippina exclaimed. "Oh, and here's your pistol. You kind of dropped it during your…thing."

"Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the show, Aggie. It sure hurt like hell." Monte admitted, pocketing his silver peacemaker.

"What are you guys talking about?" Liona asked, feeling as confused as she had been all day.

"It's a long story, I'll tell you all about it later. For now just know that Monte here is a friend." Rocky explained.

"A friend, huh? Since I don't have any of those left, I think I'll take it." Monte added.

"This is great and all, but seeing as to how there's a war going on not 50 yards from us, maybe we could move past all this chit-chat and onto the real issue at hand. How are we going to deal with the whole vault situation?" Reece said, changing the subject abruptly.

"James, I appreciate your willingness to help. But your place is here with the other Knights." Rocky asserted. "We can handle this."

"Like hell. I already told you once, Sentinel. I won't leave you alone again." Reece explained.

"James, this battle isn't over. Right now men and women - your brothers and sisters - are dying at the hands of those mutants. As Star Paladin, you're the highest ranking Knight here, and it's your duty to help them." Rocky insisted.

" _Doody_ …he-he." Agrippina giggled softly.

Reece thought for a long moment. He looked across the carnage and debris, the fires and the smoke; the remains of a place he called home. Reece chest saluted Rocky, who did so in return, then he jogged over to Commander Dorsey's position to assume command.

"Sorry Rocky, but Shipley and I better do the same. I've still got squadmates out there…somewhere." Dutch said.

"Yeah. There's no telling what kind of trouble Hutchison and Phillips have gotten themselves into." Shipley added.

"I understand. Be safe. Fight well." Rocky chest saluted the duo, who then stormed the battlefield to search for their comrades.

"Well that leaves Monte and me, I suppose. Where are we off to now gang?" Agrippina asked.

"No way. She's supposed to be locked up, Rocky. And I certainly don't trust, Montecrief." Liona declared.

"You mean in that building that's currently being sacked by ferocious green monsters? …No offense Rocky." Agrippina Volleyed. "This isn't really the time to get picky about help, now is it?"

"I trust them, Liona. Montecrief may have done heinous things in the past, but he saved my life twice today. As for Agrippina, she had every chance to run or to sabotage the mission, but she didn't. She was an asset." Rocky defended Agrippina, who smiled appreciatively at him.

"Besides, we don't really have anywhere to go. We might as well help save the boy." Monte added. Liona looked at Rocky, and elected to defer to his judgment.

"Fine, but need to go to the catacombs now. We can exchange information on the way there."

\+ The group of four spent the twenty minute trek through the nearby woods and to the catacombs getting each other caught up on the latest information. Rocky explained to Liona how Montecrief helped him come to suspect the Elder, and how the ghoul had single handedly defeated the Alabaster raiders, saving everyone. He told Liona how Montecrief hadn't held slaves in over a hundred years, and that the slaves he did hold were truly prisoners of a long since forgotten battle. Liona informed the rest of the group how she and Dalton came to suspect the Elder, and all about the Elder's correspondence with the Warrenton Mutant camp. She told them how Dalton had been hurt during the battle, but not before giving her the Puppeteer Sleeve. She explained that Edgar would be waiting for them at the catacombs and described as best she could how Fink had tried to stop the Elder by taking the Pip-Boy from the raider being held in the fort's prison before being captured himself.

"So this squire, Ramsey Fink, did all of that to save the Brotherhood? What a brave little boy." Agrippina decided.

"Yeah, he's a special kid who for whatever reason loves getting into trouble. I just hope he didn't go too far this time." Liona replied. She looked at Rocky who seemed to be lost in thought. "Rocky, you feeling alright?" She asked.

"Hm? Yeah, I feel fine, it's just…the Elder communicating with the Warrenton mutants has me thinking. There's only one mutant who could have been on the other end of those messages. And with the mutant attack happening simultaneous to the Elder opening the vault… Well, it can't be a coincidence. I don't think the Elder isn't working alone." Rocky speculated.

"Boston?" Liona asked.

"Maybe."

Finally the group came within a shouts distance of the entrance to the catacombs; a small stone building at the far end of the campus, concealing the stairway to the underground graveyard. As they approached, Liona spotted a shirtless man dressed in baggy, orange prison overalls with the sleeves tied around his waist. The closer they got to him the more obvious the lines of his body tattoos became. The colorful ink spotted his exposed, light brown skin. The man didn't move or speak until the group stopped directly in front of him. Once they did he tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the grass and patted it out beneath his poorly-fitted boot. The tattooed man spoke first.

"Finally. You guys sure did take your sweet ass time getting here. And would you look at that! I can see that robot wasn't bullshitting when he told me a super mutant would be coming too." The group gawked queerly at the half-clothed man.

"You were waiting for us?" "Who are you?" Rocky and Liona spoke one after the other.

"I'm Sweetheart."

"You're a sweetheart?" Agrippina asked.

"I mean I like to think so, yeah." Sweetheart admitted in jest.

"But what's your name?" Liona asked.

"I just told you. I'm Sweetheart." Sweetheart insisted, scratching his inked upper chest.

"I think what the man is attempting to say is that his name is Sweetheart, correct?" Monte asked the tattooed man.

"Yeah, that's what I've been saying. My name is Sweetheart." Sweetheart repeated.

"Well. This conversation is going nowhere fast." Agrippina pointed out.

"But why are you here? Did you say something about a robot?" Liona inquired.

"Oh, ok. I guess Edgar didn't tell you about me. I'm the prisoner who Ramsey stole the Pip-Boy from. Edgar came back later and freed me, and told me that Ramsey needed help. Said I could get my stuff back if I came here and waited for you guys. I said ok… is any of this ringing any bells?" Sweetheart asked.

"Some of it." Liona answered. "So he took your stuff? And you're here to get it back."

"Sure am…that little genius, dickhead. He took my bag of confiscated belongings, from when the Brotherhood locked me up. I think all he wanted was my rifle, but he took my clothes too on accident. I found this oversized prisoner outfit on the dead guy in the cell next to mine… Oh! He did leave me this little baby, though." Sweetheart reached into the spacious left pocket of the overalls and grabbed his switchblade. He flicked it open so he could admire its blade in the waning daylight. After realizing that nobody cared, he awkwardly folded the knife back up and returned it to his pocket. "Look, I was gonna help regardless when I heard the kid got caught. From what Edgar tells me, he was just trying to do what's right. So I figured, 'Hey, this world could use more people like him.' y'know what I mean?"

"If you're here to help, then you can start by telling us where Edgar is." Liona demanded.

"He should be in there somewhere. He said he was going to look for a way into the vault while I waited out here for you guys." Sweetheart told Liona, who wasted no time striding passed him and into the catacombs, followed by Rocky and Agrippina. Sweetheart was leaning against the outside walls, taking a brief moment to light another cigarette when Montecrief walked passed him. "Dead man's cigarette?" Sweetheart asked the ghoul, who stopped walking and promptly grabbed one from the human's hand. Sweetheart gave him a tiny match box to light it with.

"Thank you. I've had quite a shit day, indeed." Monte divulged, handing the matches back. The two continued talking as they slowly followed the rest of the group into the catacombs and down the long staircase.

"Man, you don't even know what a shitty day is." Sweetheart replied, shivering slightly from the sudden shift in temperature as they descended. Monte chuckled and took a deep drag of his bequeathed cigarette.

"It's been that bad has it?" Montecrief asked. Sweetheart nodded briefly before releasing a plume of tobacco smoke into the cold, underground air. "Tell you what, Sweetheart. I'll tell you how horrendous my day was, and then you can tell me how terrible yours was. If my day proves worse than yours, then I get the rest of that pack. And if your day, through some act of the devil himself, proves to be worse than mine, I'll give you this warm bomber jacket. Deal?" Sweetheart chuckled and nodded at the odd, glowing ghoul.

"I'll take that action. Deal." Sweetheart inhaled more of the stale tobacco. "Let's hear it."

"Well, I woke up this morning to the news that a group of Brotherhood spies were hiding outside my home. Instead of killing them, I let them enter, in the hopes that I could learn what they were looking for. It turns out, a group of raiders who had also been spying on me had seen the Brotherhood soldiers entering my home, unmolested. They saw this as a sign of us working together, and since the Brotherhood had only just this morning fucked them over by ruining one of their raids, they decided today would be a perfect time to attack me. They showed up at my door, murdered all of my fellow ghouls, and forced me to destroy my home in order to defeat them. In doing so I nearly killed myself. Alas, I was saved by a super mutant working for the Brotherhood, who then brought me here, to yet another warzone." Montecrief laughed at his own debacle of a day. The two finally reached the bottom of the stairs, where the rest of the group was chatting amongst themselves, searching for Edgar.

"That is some shit, man. Damn, ha-ha. Well okay, my turn. Uhh, so I went out on a job this morning tasked with finding a Pip-Boy for some collector guy, who was willing to pay a lot of caps for it. Thing is, I hated my job, and I hated everyone I worked with. Just a bunch of sadistic assholes you know? So I decided I was going to take the Pip-Boy for myself, ditch my partners, and sell it to the buyer directly. Everything was going according to plan, when all of a sudden…" Sweetheart paused, and squinted at the stone floors of the catacombs.

"When all of a sudden…what?" Monte confusedly asked.

"When I was attacked by Brotherhood soldiers." Sweetheart met eyes with Montecrief. "They shot me in my ass, they knocked me out, and then they threw me in an unconditioned prison cell… Wait, is your name Montecrief? Of Montecrief House?" Sweetheart asked, to which Monte nodded.

"And you are a raider, formerly affiliated with the Alabaster raiders, correct?" Monte asked rhetorically. "This day just keeps getting weirder doesn't it?"

"Sure does… Here man, you earned these." Sweetheart offered the pack of cigarettes to the glowing ghoul.

"Thanks. Here," Montecrief removed his bomber jacket and tossed it to Sweetheart. "It's not even mine anyway." Sweetheart quickly donned the warm, leather jacket, cozying up within its wooly interior. "Here, everyone take a match." Monte passed a lit match to each member of the crew. The group split up, each searching one of the many corridors for any sign of Edgar or the Elder.

"Edgar!" Liona called. "We came just like you said!" She continued calling, her echoes exploring throughout the catacombs dark depths. Using her match, the scribe studied the walls around herself, soon noticing that there were words carved into the stone above the grave directly in front of her. As if somehow she had subconsciously sought it out, the first name Liona read on the wall was her mother's: Fiona Daughtry. It was there where she had been buried with Leo's ashes just a few short years ago. Liona knelt beside her mother's grave, and beside Leo' final resting place. She tried to remember the good times; the times when she and her mother were close. When they would play games, and read stories together. She tried to remember back to when she was a little girl and how her mother would set aside entire days just for her and Leo, so that the three could have a picnic in the courtyard together, and explore all the way to the edges of the campus grounds. On some rare nights they would hike the steps and ladders to the top of the Steel Chapel, so that they could all watch the moon rise over the wasteland. These memories had brief hold on her however. In their stead were those more recent, and more malignant. Memories of her mother spending entire days working at her lab, only to come home and have a brief, surface conversation with Liona before locking herself in her room for the night. On such nights Liona would sleep outside her mother's door so as not to miss her when she left for work in the morning. For hours she would listen to her mother cry over Leo's death as she cried along with her, until they both exhausted themselves and fell asleep. They shared many sad nights like that, until they didn't share anymore nights at all. "Why didn't you just let me in?" Liona whispered in the darkness just as her match burnt out. "I finished it, mother. You should see him, he's so much like Leo…but he's not. His name is Rocky, and _he_ is my hope mother. You lost yours in Leo, I know…but I've found a new one in Rocky. I just wish…" Liona crumbled then. For so long she had felt like a dam made of sticks tasked with restraining an entire ocean from bursting through. She slumped over and cried - truly sobbed - like she hadn't in years. Her wails were completely unrestrained then; the dam she had built in order to hold them them had now been reduced to helpless driftwood floating atop the currents of her emotions. Most of the group was too far away to hear her moans; everyone except for Agrippina, who poked her head around the corner holding a torch.

"Hey, Liona. We found a bunch of…torches. Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Agrippina immediately fell to her knees and began consoling Liona, looking her over for any injuries.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Liona insisted in a quivering tone. "It's just that…this is my…my mother's…" Liona fell into Agrippina's chest, helplessly allowing herself to be comforted by the near-stranger.

"Shhh, sh, sh, sh. You're fine, you're going to be fine." Agrippina promised while holding Liona tightly in her arms. The two remained like that, arm in arm, for an entire minute until they heard the boy's yelling from afar how they had found something. Liona pulled away first, slightly embarrassed, but mostly relieved and thankful not to have gone through that experience alone. "Are you ready to go? I'm not completely sure, but I heard that the wasteland may need saving." Agrippina joked while standing up. Liona laughed softly and used Aggie's arm for help getting up off the floor. They walked together through the converging isles of graves and into the main hallway of the catacombs near the stairwell where they saw a yellow torch light flickering at the end of a narrow hallway. They walked towards the burning light, soon arriving in a room half the size of the entrance room where Rocky, Monte, and Sweety were standing in front of an open elevator.

"Look what I found!" Sweetheart proudly announced, stepping back to allow the women to see his finding.

"An elevator…at a gravesite? That's odd." Aggie thought aloud.

"Did the Brotherhood build this, Liona?" Rocky asked, examining the construction of the transportation device.

"No, we didn't. When we first got here this entire area had already been excavated, so we made use of it by converting it into a place to lay our dead to rest. We were never sure why it had been dug out in the first place; I always assumed it was the raiders who were here before us that did it. I guess it makes sense now that we know about the vault. As for the elevator - I've never seen it before." Liona answered.

"The bad guys must have gotten down here before us and taken this elevator to the vault. They must have known how to find it." Said Agrippina who remained beside Liona.

"Yeah, that makes sense. But you know…" Liona looked around the room, examining its walls. She continued, "I've never seen this part of the catacombs before. I don't think this room was even accessible prior to today. The Elder must have had it blocked off a while ago."

"Regardless, we should get a move on." Montecrief added. "Wouldn't want to keep the poor boy waiting."

"Hold up everyone." The entire room looked at Rocky, who spoke up unexpectedly. "There's something you should know first. If the Elder is working with the super mutants, with my former clan, then he must be working with the clan leader, Boston. He's a super mutant, but he isn't at all like most of us. He's clever, he's obsessive, and he's manipulative. I traveled with him for years before the Brotherhood and Liona granted me my humanity back. Getting into this vault and obtaining the FEV are not simply goals for him, they're inevitabilities. He'll do anything, and kill anyone in order to succeed. I guess what I'm trying to say is that none of you have to do this. We've all been through a lot today, and I want you all to know that you don't have to go with me."

The group swapped cursory glances, each taking a moment to mull over Rocky's words until finally Aggie spoke.

"Nah, I'm good. You can't get rid of me that easy, Greeny." Aggie smirked and winked at Rocky. "Although, I reckon it'll take more than one person to watch a back the size of yours." Aggie turned her attention to the rest of the group, challenging them.

"Yeah, 'I reckon it would'." Sweetheart mocked Aggie. "And I'd hate to let such a pretty thing like you take on such a difficult task all by yourself."

"Are you going to help or not, playboy?" Agrippina quipped after rolling her eyes.

"Yeah sure, why not? I'll tag along with you, big guy." Sweetheart committed. "Sounds like fun."

"Well, I would look pretty cowardly were I to back out now, wouldn't I? You can count me in as well, Rocky. Huh…that would make us one motley crew of mutants, wouldn't it? A ghoul, a super mutant, a raider, and a synthetic." Montecrief highlighted.

"Wait, wait, wait…who's the Synth? I'm the raider, you're the ghoul, he's the super mutant, and…holy shit!" Sweetheart exclaimed upon his realization. "You're a synth?!"

"I wasn't telling anyone, Monte! You ruiner." Agrippina scolded.

"Oh, really? My apologies. I guess I just thought it was obvious to everyone."

"Obvious!? How could it be obvious? She looks…I mean I thought she was a hot chick!"

"Aww, you really did? How sweet!" Agrippina feigned. "Liona, I know we only just met, but please tell me your coming with us. I simply cannot be left alone with this mongoloid."

"Of course I am. Rocky and I began this together. I'm just glad we don't have to finish it alone." Said Liona, who was immediately and aggressively embraced by Agrippina.

Sweetheart stepped into the steel confines of the elevator and was soon followed by the rest of the males in the group. The females, Liona and Aggie, traded smirks before walking into the crowded elevator together. "Well. There's only one way to find out how this story ends." Montecrief muttered. He pressed the only button provided on the elevator's destination panel. The unmarked button glowed a feint yellow, prompting the elevator to seal itself shut, and to turn on its interior lights. As the group listened to the electrical hums of the lowering machine, they all fell into a long, pensive silence. The worrisome thought that they may not be taking this elevator ride back up lied foremost in their minds.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Garden

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 8 - The Garden**

\+ Darion Rockwell – a Brotherhood Sentinel and leader of the Cavaliers division - remained standing despite the multitude of injuries he had sustained during the assault on Evergreen Mills. Were it not for his T-60 power armor's added strength, he would have surely perished on his way to the mutant camp's inner sanctum, just as the 3rd and 5th Cavaliers had. Helmetless, and therefore radio-less, Darion stood with his classic super-sledge in hand, and with his mind focused on his goal of finding and slaying the mutant leader. In the cold, dark, and wet recesses of the underground encampment, he found himself surrounded by several more super mutants brandishing hammers and blades of their own. He was posturing for battle and sizing up each of the four mutants, when he heard a fifth mutant speak from behind him.

"Sentinel… Come in Sentinel. Sentinel… Where are you?" Darion spun around to find the mutant leader pressing his lost BOS helmet against his own mutated ear, and repeating the words he heard from it aloud. "You're a long way from home, Sentinel. A very long way indeed." The mutant leader dropped the broken power armor helmet onto the floor, where from the subtle voices of Darion's remaining Cavaliers emanated softly. "Your fellow interlopers." The mutant leader drew his white laser rifle and blasted a gaping hole through the helmet, cutting off the speakers. "You won't need to worry about them anymore, Sentinel. We're your family now."

"Family!? What the hell are you rambling about, mutant? I came here to eradicate you monsters, and I remain committed to doing so!" Sentinel Rockwell mustered up enough might to ram his super-sledge into the chest of the mutant to his right. The mutant's ribcage shattered audibly, sending boney shrapnel tearing through his internal organs. The mutant projectile-vomited blood onto the Brotherhood Knight's grimacing face, before collapsing onto the rock floor. Just as the Sentinel turned to face the other three mutants, their leader fired a laser bolt through one of the exposed parts of his damaged armor. Whether by an abundance of adrenaline or simply by sheer will power, Darion neglected to accept the wounds very existence as he swept his retro-futuristic cudgel across the next mutant's ankles causing him to fall over onto his back. The Sentinel capitalized on his newfound advantage in height, by slamming his war-hammer repeatedly against the brute's cranium until it was rendered unrecognizable. In the following instant, another two blasts from the mutant leader's weapon found home in Darion's somewhat exposed torso. The pain surged through Darion's body from both points of impact located just beneath his right clavicle, forcing him finally to relent. The remaining two mutant henchmen grabbed the downed Knight and rocketed their fists into his exposed head and chest.

"Enough, you two." The mutants obeyed their commander and released Darion, after which one of them retrieved the Knight's super-sledge so as not to allow another surprise attack. The Leader approached Darion and knelt beside his aching body. "Six soldiers. That's all the Brotherhood cared to send? I'll admit, your men did put on quite a show for a while there but, as expected, our strength soon prevailed. You underestimated me, Sentinel, and you have paid for your hubris." The mutant now held up Darion's limp, blooded, and bruised head in his baseball-mit sized palm. "Now I only want to give you a gift." The mutant reached around Darion and extracted the fusion coil from his armor's backside. Darion fell out the armor's frame and into the green arms of the mutant leader. His body was so badly wounded that he was unable to pull from the mutant's grasp, regardless of how much his mind demanded it do so. The mutant carried Darion deeper still into the subterranean encampment to a large storage-room. One of the mutant followers unlatched the heavy lock and pulled open the steel door allowing the leader to carry Darion into the room. Inside the metal room, the Leader carefully stepped over the various deformed humanoid bodies littered throughout on his way to the center. They would have been in complete darkness if not for the massive vat in the middle of the room, brimming with glowing, green, F.E.V. "I bid you farewell, human. Soon, you will awake anew, better, and stronger: as a clan-brother."

\+ About a half mile underneath Fort Duke, beneath many tons of compacted rock and dirt, laid an excavated space half the size of a gymnasium. The space was surrounded by wooden panels on all sides, supported by metal beams, and was partially lit by a few yellow flood lights being powered by a small generator. Highlighted by the warm rays of artificial light were three ugly, green, super mutants, surrounding a boy and a pile of metal parts. The boy's arm had been restrained to a blinking yellow console, where the Pip-Boy attached to his forearm was plugged in. To the far end of the room, was the giant cog-like metal door to Vault 52, which remained sealed tight. The two mutants who were seated, spoke and cackled between themselves uninhibitedly while the boy listened in silence.

"I had little pink men before. Salty, peppery, grilled tiny pink men." The mutant with a light-green complexion recalled.

"It doesn't matter dumb-dumb." The dark-green mutant responded to the light-green one. "Dark, light, big, small. All human tastes good. Even better when they're raw and fresh!"

"Raw no better than grilled! Girder grill best pink man, best brown man."

"Girder uses too much seasons. I like human just after the kill! Little stinky…but better taste."

"No, no, no! Chop!" The light-green mutant spoke to the standing mutant who had been daydreaming during apparent the argument. The much larger super mutant slowly looked over at his brethren. "What you think Chop? Humans better cooked or raw?" Asked the light-green mutant. Chop placed his gigantic palm atop the human boy's head and squeezed slightly, forcing the boy to grimace and moan in pain. He knelt down to meet the boy's eye level.

"Chop like humans raw. Like them warm and juicy and stringy!" Chop growled inches away from the boy's face, pelting his cheeks with foul-smelling spittle.

"Get your green sausage fingers off of me, asshole!" The boy, the squire, named Ramsey Fink yelled. He grabbed a fistful of nearby gravel and slung it at Chop's face, who reared back, hastily wiping his face and eyes.

"Stupid human!" Chop grabbed his street-sign halberd and lifted it over his shoulder. He wound up and released a crushing blow directly into the dirt just missing Ramsey's head. For a few moments the squire was sure if he had been killed, and so he remained completely still until he heard Chop's voice again. "Boston say we no kill you now. But in soon, we kill and eat human. In soon." Chop promised ungrammatically, before removing his halberd's blade from the earth.

"You're really dumb, aren't you? I mean I knew super mutants weren't exactly the sharpest beings found in the wastes, but you set an extraordinarily low mark." Ramsey taunted.

"No talk, human! No talk!"

"Or what? You can't do anything to me and you know it, Chop." Fink continued. "Your master, this Boston, is working with the Elder, and the Elder asked him to keep me alive. So you've basically been reduced to a glorified nanny, left here to watch over a child while they get to explore the vault."

"Chop is no NANNY! Chop is super mutant! A fighter!" Chop insisted, regarding Chop.

"I hear you big guy, I do. But I'm not so sure Boston thinks of you that way. I mean, if he thought of you as a fighter, then why would he leave you here to look after me when he could've just had these two dummies do it? For that matter, why didn't he allow you to lead the battle against the Brotherhood?" The tall mutant thought for a long moment, resting his left hand on his head, then his hip. "Listen Chop. I don't think you need Boston. I've seen him, and he isn't as strong or as big as you are. Maybe you should be the one leading your clan. What do you two think?" Ramsey looked over his shoulder at the light and dark green mutants.

"Well," The darker one spoke. "The pink man does have a point. Chop is the strongest of the clan."

"Yeah! And, and, Chop is best battler!" Yelled the lighter one.

"No! You lie, and you trick, human! Boston is strong clan-leader! NO MORE WORDS!" Chop raised his halberd once again, this time with true murderous intention. As he swung furiously and repeatedly, Fink rolled back and forth, narrowly avoiding each powerful strike. Chop's roars and Ramsey's grunts reverberated between the walls and through the depths of the man-made cavern. Chop aimed for Ramsey's center of mass, hacking downward as hard as he could. Ramsey responded with a backwards tumble, lifting his lower body clear from the zone of the blow. The domineering mutant was beginning to become frustrated with the squire's nimbleness when he spotted the perfect target; Ramsey's immobile, Pip-Boyed arm attached to the vault switch. Chop swung his octagonal halberd towards the boy's arm, only to find that his weapon had been removed from his grasp mid-swing. The vain swing's momentum had spun Chop around in a complete circle, allowing him to witness his weapon hanging in the air from seemingly nothing. The entirety of the pole arm was coated in a blue, glowing light, causing all present to stare, while firmly ensnared in a state of bewilderment. The mutants and the boy all noticed together that the light was attached to a beam which they traced all the way into the distant darkness of the cavern. As if it had been granted sentience from the blue beam, the sign-post weapon began rising into the air slowly tilting its blade upward. Almost as soon as the blade stopped moving upwards, it came plummeting down guillotine-style toward Chop's neck. The mutant showed surprising reflexes as he caught the weapon, halting it in its tracks. As the pressure from the ostensibly vengeful polearm increased, Chop could feel his overgrown muscles begin to fail him for the first time. He refitted his grip on the weapon, and with a fiendish war-cry he managed to yank the halberd from the grasp of the ethereal force. Panting, Chop raised his halberd into the air, claiming victory over the mysterious blue beam. "Ha-ha! Chop wins! Again!" The other mutants stood now and joined Chop in scanning the dark cavern for the beams origin.

"Ramsey!" A female voice echoed. "Run!" In an instant, Rocky, Liona, Agrippina, Montecrief, and Sweetheart emerged from the darkness together, blitzing the enemy mutant-trio.

"Roc?" Chop muttered as he squinted at the approaching figures. "...ROC!" He yelled, charging after his former clan-brother. Liona fired two blasts from her Puppeteer sleeve at the two smaller mutants. They evaded the blasts by rolling in opposite directions, incidentally separating themselves from one another. Just like Rocky had planned, Liona and Monte targeted the one on the left, while Sweety and Aggie went after the one to their right. The dark-green mutant lunged at Monte first, easily avoiding Liona's misplaced shots. The seemingly invincible mutant absorbed Monte's bullets one after one until he came within arm's reach of the ghoul. He grabbed Monte by his legs and swung him around like a medieval flail, eventually throwing him into one of the tunnel support beams.

"Montecrief!" Liona called to no avail. As the dark mutant turned its ire on her, she reverted back to her mother's calming tactics, determined not to let what happened with Subject-A happen again. After filling her lungs completely, she exhaled quickly and opened her eyes: completely centered.

"Human! I will eat your BONES!" The dark green mutant taunted her. Despite her every instinct, Liona remained calm and cool as the mutant closed in on her. Methodically, she extended her fore and middle fingers together, sighted the mutant in front of them, and told her sleeve to fire. The mutant stretched his arms out and leaped to grab Liona, but the scribe's shot was true and it was fast. The blue bolt of blazing otherworldly fire connected instantly, exploding the mutants head as quickly as it evaporated the resulting scattered-brain-matter. Liona watched as what was left of the mutant thudded and slid across the floor harmlessly in front of her. She squealed a celebratory swear word in name of excitement and relief, before sprinting to check on Montecrief.

On the other side of the cavern, things weren't going as well for Sweetheart. He had expected to be fighting alongside Agrippina, but to his surprise, the synth was nowhere to be seen. In her stead, he had only a small switchblade, and what little confidence he could scrape together at his defense. Sweetheart gathered confidence the way most raiders did: by, 'talking shit'.

"Come on you ugly, Frankenstein look-alike asshole!" The light-green mutant swung his sledgehammer fiercely, yet predictably. Sweetheart quickly caught on to his left, right, left, right swinging pattern, allowing him to better time his dodges and continue to bolster his confidence through the art of trash-talk. "You are trying to hit me, right?" The mutant's swings grew increasingly desperate, while he himself grew increasingly exhausted. "You know, I'm sure there's a clinic somewhere that can take care of that hair-loss problem of yours. Maybe a toupee would do the trick." Sweetheart reached an all-time high in confidence then. He toyed with the mutant for a while; dancing, spinning, and making silly faces to try to incite him to exhaust himself.

Meanwhile, Rocky was contending with an all-too ferocious Chop. Rocky decided to not even shoulder his rifle after seeing how quickly Chop was covering the ground between them. Instead he unholstered his cleaver and braced for the inevitable impact. Chop's halberd came down fast from above Rocky, but the LEO mutant was able to parry the strike with his reforged cleaver blade. He riposted quickly with a swipe at Chop's belly. His cleaver, while much faster than his opponent's halberd, was significantly shorter and so he missed Chop who juked backwards.

"Roc! Traitor! Boston say you died!" Chop whined. "No worry, Roc. You die soon!" Again Chop attacked Rocky who could only do his best to parry and sidestep the ensuing onslaught. Eventually after a series of mostly ineffective strikes, Chop's halberd struck Rocky's cleaver in such a way that it was ejected from his hand, sending it clattering against the rock floors some yards away. Rocky head-butted Chop before he could strike again, making the bigger mutant stagger backwards. With his opponent stunned, Rocky decided to make a run for the cleaver. He took two long strides and dove towards it, only to be restrained from his ankle by Chop's massive hand. Chop dragged Rocky in close to himself, laughing loudly while Rocky tried in vain to resist Chop's raw power. When Chop had pulled Rocky close enough, he lifted his halberd up for the killing blow. As soon as Chop raised his polearm though, Rocky up-kicked the hilt of the weapon hurtling it right out of Chop's clutches. Infuriated, Chop rained down a storm of hammer-fists onto Rocky's body. At first, Rocky attempted to guard against the blows, until eventually they grew to be too numerous and too damaging. Rocky felt his body refusing to continue, despite his minds persistence. He was trapped beneath Chop's wrath and fury, with no solution. Only once Rocky had seemed to be incapacitated did Chop finally stop punching. He dragged Rocky to his knees and posed him there, granting himself a moment to reclaim his sign-post halberd. Rocky wanted so badly to get up and to fight, but his body was too debilitated from the stronger mutant's punches to continue. As Chop held his halberd to the ceiling one last time, Rocky resigned himself to death. Suddenly Rocky felt a warm wave of rejuvenation wash over him just as a cold, refreshing spark tore through his muscles and ligaments. The hypnotic sensation bid he rose to his feet at once, and so he did. Just a moment before he could barely kneel, yet now he stood tall and with ease. With both hands Rocky took hold of Chop's halberd mid-swing, claiming it with a single pull. In a blurred motion he swung the weapon horizontally across Chop's belly, eviscerating the hulking mutant. Rocky himself was barely aware of his movements as he executed them, as they were no longer his own. Authorship of his actions now belonged to Liona, who guided his body using her Puppeteer Sleeve's tertiary function: mind control. With his entrails spread all over the floor, Chop finally fell to his knees with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, trying to keep what remained of his innards inside. Still under the influence of Liona, Rocky returned the halberd to Chop by burying it into his skull. Liona, who was standing a couple dozen yards behind Rocky, released her mind control beam and in doing so regained control of her own faculties. She found herself falling safely into the arms of Montecrief, who gawked at her in amazement.

"I don't know or care to know what the hell that device is, just please whatever you do, don't use it on me." Monte said. The ghoul helped Liona to her feet. They ran to help Rocky, who had also collapsed once the neural link was finished, and injected him with several stimpacks.

All the while, Sweetheart was still contending with the light-green, sledgehammer wielding super mutant from before. At some point during his dancing routine, he had accidentally backed into a slight change in elevation and lost his footing. The raider had stumbled and fell flat on his back immediately causing his spine to ache. The mutant aggressor cackled sinisterly once he saw his opportunity to finish the human. Hoping to catch the mutant by surprise, Sweetheart sat up suddenly and thrusted his knife into the hulking monster's right pectoral muscle as deep as he could. The monstrous mutant slowly looked over at the tiny blade. He studied it as if it were an ancient artifact of some kind, and as if he were someone who cared for such things. After a few brief moments he held his head back and laughed boomingly, having realized that the human had intended to kill him with the miniature knife.

"Mistake! ... I made a mistake!" Sweetheart called out to whoever could hear him while crawling backwards. The mutant abruptly stopped laughing then, and made a face like he had swallowed a fly. To the befuddlement of Sweetheart, the green monster began patting himself all over and grabbing the air in front of his own throat. In seconds he was kneeling and swinging wildly at the air around himself like a lunatic. After less than a half-minute of the super mutant's strange outburst, he was lying flat on his face completely still. From out of the thin air which he had seemed to be attempting to wrestle, appeared the thin figure of a brown skinned woman dressed in a lumberjack-flannel and jeans.

"Agrippina?" Sweetheart asked. "How did you-"

"Pretty sneaky, huh? My synth component was outfitted with self-reliant stealth field capabilities when I was created." Agrippina answered Sweetheart's question before it had fully been asked. "That is to say, I basically have an unlimited supply of Stealth Boys within my body." Aggie helped Sweety to his feet.

"So you were literally made for sneaking… Cool." Sweetheart blushed for a moment, but quickly recollected himself. "You could have told me you were going to do that, though. I really thought that asshole was going to smash me to death for a second."

"What was it you said? Oh right, 'I'd never let such a pretty thing like you take on such a difficult task all by yourself'."

"So you do think I'm pretty, then?" Sweetheart volleyed.

"You're more like…a charming annoyance." Agrippina joked.

"Charming? I'll take charming." He smiled.

"So you were pretty scared for a little bit there, huh?" Aggie prodded.

"Me? Of course not, no. I've fought worse than him when I was still in diapers."

"You had diapers? In the wasteland? Pampered little boy, weren't you."

"No, what I meant was - It's like a figure of speech! You know what I mean… I wasn't scared."

"I'm sure." She smiled satisfactorily.

"Are you guys okay?" Liona called out.

"Yeah we're fine. You?" Aggie returned.

"Yeah. Mostly anyway." Liona admitted. The group collected at the vault entrance near a stunned and confused Ramsey Fink.

"Liona! I half expected you to come, but not with all of these…people. Where's Dalton?" Ramsey asked.

"He's…he's going to be fine, but he was hurt during the battle with the mutants. A battle which for all we know is still being fought up there." Liona strode over to Fink and began untying his hand restraints.

"Why are all of them here?" Ramsey pointed using his free hand. "Why is _he_ here?" Fink focused his pointer finger on Rocky.

"Peace, Squire. We're all here for the same reason, Ramsey. We came to save you, and then put a stop to whatever the Elder and Boston are up to." Rocky explained. His eyes slowly drifted from Ramsey to the pile of metal at his feet, noticing a glass-encased brain amongst the scrap. "Is that…Edgar?"

"Oh right, I almost forgot. You can stop playing dead now, Edgar. It's all clear." The pile of multifarious metal pieces, knotted wires, and circuitry began magnetically reconfiguring itself after Ramsey spoke. At an astounding pace, the parts reformed back into a shape that resembled a modified eye-bot, placing all of the intricately designed internals and externals exactly where they belonged. Once the robot was fully reassembled its lights hummed on and its Mr. Handy propulsion unit fired up, lifting it from the earth.

"Hello everyone! I'm glad to see you found the elevator all right. Apologies for leaving you back there, Mr. Sweetheart, but I had to be sure that my wee master was alright." Spoke Edgar.

"Edgar, you sound like my mom. Wait, who did you just say?" Ramsey stopped speaking momentarily as Liona finished untying him. He sat up to get a closer look at someone in particular in the group. "Hey! You're that raider, Sweetheart, from the cellblock! What are you doing here?"

"Hey-a kiddo. I just came to get my weapons back to be honest, and maybe to make sure you didn't get killed or nothing. Although now that I'm here, I'm beginning to think I may stick around for the finale. Who knows what kind of prewar treasures are in that vault, right?" Sweetheart responded.

"Well, first things first. You'll find your weapon and ammo on that rock behind me where the mutants were sitting. Sorry to say, I accidentally lost the rest of your equipment though when I was captured. I thought I could use your rifle to paralyze myself and have Edgar get rid of the Pip-Boy once we were far enough away. So much for that plan." Sweetheart followed Fink's directions and collected his syringer rifle, Nurse.

"Hell yeah! Wait 'till those muteys get a load of me now! If I can take on a super mutant with only a switchblade, -" Aggie glared at Sweetheart who immediately reconfigured his statement. "- and of course with a little help from Aggie, then who knows how many I can take on with a real weapon." Sweetheart boasted.

"I don't think you'll have a chance to find out today, Sweetheart. After they used me to open the vault, Boston and Cyrus went in by themselves. It's going to be a real pain to find them now, The Garden being as huge as it is." Ramsey explained.

"What do you mean, 'The Garden'?" Montecrief asked. Ramsey tilted his head curiously in the direction of his robot companion.

"You didn't tell them about The Garden, Edgar?" Ramsey asked the floating robot.

"Well I didn't exactly have a lot of time for chit-chat, Mr. Fink. What with all of the super mutants attacking, and the Pip-Boy business, and of course you being captured. It's a terribly large amount of things to explain, Mr. Fink."

"Ramsey." Liona chimed in. "Do you mind telling us what you're talking about, please?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean I could tell you, but I think it might be easier just to show you." The group watched curiously as the precocious squire plugged his Pip-Boy into the vault door console and threw the switch forward. At once power flooded the vault door causing the entire cavern to rumble slightly. They could hear something metal interacting with the vault door's opposite side, and they could see the door begin to pull away slowly. In a matter of seconds the vault door had been removed completely out of its locked position, at which point slivers of light came slipping through the cracks around the door. A large, rusty mechanical arm could be seen through one of these cracks struggling to roll the door out of the way. Just when it looked as though the door had seized up, it suddenly gained momentum and started moving to the side. The rolling vault door gradually revealed a sprawling landscape comprised of lush, green foliage of all sizes, colorful, darting insects, distant waterfalls, and rocky caves. The group stepped into the suspiciously well-lit vault together, their mouths agape and their eyes wandering. "This, is The Garden." Ramsey spoke from behind the group. "Pretty insane, huh? According to the Elder's notes on it, Vault 52 was built in order to house a small scientific community comprised of a bunch of bio-engineers, mathematicians, and whatnot. At least a year before the war, Vault-Tec excavated this cavern and built a small research facility smack-dab in the middle of it for the scientists to live in as Overseers. After which they employed a G.E.C.K., and put in some fancy, cycling artificial sunlight emitters on the roof to make it feel more like an outdoor environment. To aid in the façade, and perhaps to help keep the scientists sane, they developed some sort of illusory display of blue skies and clouds for the daytime, and black starry skies for the nighttime as well."

"It's…" Rocky started.

"…Beautiful." Liona finished.

"Before two minutes ago, I never would have fucking believed that a place like this could exist in the world." Sweetheart said while spreading the sides of his jacket open so that his bare chest could feel the warmth of the pseudo-sunlight.

"Neither would I have." Admitted Montecrief. "Look at how huge those trees are! The green grass, the bright flowers - it's just like it was before the bombs." Monte knelt down and picked one of the more femininely colored flowers from the dirt.

"I once knew a similar underground society, full of egg-heads. I think they would have loved to have gotten their rubber-gloved hands on this place." Agrippina remembered, taking a seat in the grass.

"Ramsey. What were all of those scientists doing here anyway?" Liona asked. The group looked back at the squire together, awaiting an answer. He only looked past them, smiled, and said,

"That." The group turned back towards the sunny interior of the vault. Stomping its way through a not-so-distant field was a giant turtle, standing well above the highest blades of the surrounding tallgrass. From its shell protruded massive spikes which extended several feet into the sky. As the quadruped walked towards a nearby water source and out of the tallgrass, its armored tail could finally be seen swaying back and forth like a biological mace.

"What the hell is that thing?!" Sweetheart asked.

"It looks like a giant snapping turtle to me… Look at its mouth. Its head is like a vise with eyes." Agrippina theorized.

"The scientists here were using the Forced Evolutionary Virus to…well, _force_ certain species of animals to evolve in the hopes of creating another sentient race of beings here on Earth. Perhaps one better suited for the world we created."

"Hey guys, look at that." Sweetheart, who had wondered up a nearby hill, called out. The group met him at the hill's low, windswept summit. One by one they looked to the direction in which Sweety was already facing. Above the tree lines and towards the middle of the visible landscape, the group spotted the circular top of a dilapidated spire. Beneath all of the overgrown vines and moss that covered the aging structure, they could see the sunlight reflecting off of pieces of windows and metal walls. The structure was strangely similar to a diner table, with one disproportionately long leg.

"That must've been their think-tank." Liona decided.

"Think Tank? Isn't that place way over in the Big MT? Oh, wait. I see what you mean. Never mind, ha-ha." Aggie said. "Anyway, at least we know where we need to go. Hopefully we won't run into a mutated…I don't know, a rabid, mutated beaver or something."

"I wouldn't worry about the mutated inhabitants; we've got the numbers on our side. So long as we give the creatures here a wide berth I think they'll leave us be." Fink hypothesized.

"Well that will be easy for you Ramsey, because you're not coming." Liona declared.

"What!? You cannot make me stay here, Liona! I -"

"You have to stay here, Ramsey. It's too dangerous in the vault. Your mother is worried sick about you, and I don't want to have to face her if something happens to you." Liona reminded Ramsey. "Edgar, see to it that Ramsey remains safely outside the vault. We'll be back soon to take him to the Chapel."

"Aye, mam." The hodgepodge robot answered. Ramsey wound up to fire back, but instead exhaled quickly and relaxed his posture.

"Fine… I'll stay here. But I wanna say something before you guys leave." The young squire teased.

"What is it, Ramsey?" Liona asked. Ramsey Fink walked to the top of the hill and peered past the trees, and directly at the black Spire.

"A dormant spire laboratory, a bunch of dead scientists, and a giant mutated snapping turtle - these are all scary things in their own right. But I've read enough prewar Sci-Fi to know that there's something more…insidious at work here. I know it's the Brotherhood's mission to secure all lost technology and so this may sound blasphemous to you Liona, but I'd leave whatever's up there for somebody else to find. It doesn't look like their inventions brought the scientists anything but trouble."

\+ The Brotherhood of Steel's eastern presence, while not as widespread as their western presence, had nonetheless managed to find root in many different communities alongside the Atlantic coast. Connecting these bases, by means of supply deliveries, were a few dozen squads led by experienced Knight Captains. One such squad - Intrepid Squad - was once a unique unit formed at the Capitol Wasteland's Citadel, originally specializing in reconnaissance detail. For years Captain Ryan Dutch's crew had been sent up and down the coast by the Brotherhood leaders, searching for new technologies and places to expand. More recently, the once adventurous squad had been relegated to delivering shipments from base to base as Brotherhood expansion had stagnated. While his crew commonly complained about the lack of excitement found in their new appointment, Dutch rather enjoyed the calm wasteland treks along strictly charted territories only. Shipley, Hutchison, and Phillips missed traveling to places no one else in the Brotherhood of Steel had ever been to before; it gave them purpose. For Dutch however, their trips into the unknown provided him only anxiety and stress. Every time they would come across a new settlement of cannibalistic raiders, or be attacked by some strange pack of mutated creatures, the fear that he may have led his soldiers directly to their deaths would eat away at his mind, even after they had survived the encounters. Delivering packages had fared far better for his mental well-being, Dutch had found - that is, prior to the last 24 hours or so. As he and Shipley snuck along the rubble-strewn borders of the battlefield searching for their squadmates, he could sense that same, malignant feeling beginning to creep into his thoughts. He attempted to block it out by tuning his comm-radio to the squad's frequency, in the hopes of hearing the voices of either Hutchison or Phillips.

"Hutch? Phillips? Come in. Sgt. Shipley and I are back at the Fort, and we are on our way to you. Over." Dutch radioed. In response came only static. "Mike, Raymond, come in!" Dutch called with considerable amount of urgency in his voice. Shipley grabbed him by his shoulder, reigning her captain in from his worry.

"Dutch, they can't hear you. We should just search for them using their suit's local transmitters." Shipley recommended.

"Right." Dutch breathed. He and Shipley activated their HUD's signal receivers together, immediately locating the position of their lost squadmates.

"You see 'em?" Dutch asked.

"Yeah. It looks like they're in…the Infirmary." Jenny responded, after having taken a look to their left at the Infirmary building, the front of which had been collapsed at some point during the battle. What was left standing had been rendered inaccessible by common means due to the heaps of piled stone left from the ongoing battle.

"It's gonna be fine, Jenny. We'll find them." Dutch said halfheartedly, as if he were trying to convince himself. The two began jogging towards the split building.

"Yeah, I know, Skipper. The question is: How?" Shipley responded. Dutch scanned the building as they approached, searching for a new point of entry.

"There," He pointed to a service ladder still attached to the building's side. "We can climb that and find a way in from the roof." As they arrived at the ladder, Shipley started laughing like Dutch hadn't seen since he told her the story about how his childhood pet molerat died trying to swim.

"You mind telling me what's so funny?" Dutch demanded humorlessly, remembering her cruelness.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just going to be so funny watching you break that damn thing while trying to climb it in full power armor."

"Well it's not like I can leave my suit out here." Dutch explained.

"Just hug me, Captain." Shipley said, spreading her arms out.

"Hug you? What the hell -"

"Just do it, dammit." She ordered her C.O. Dutch acquiesced to her demand, and wrapped his arms around Shipley's armor tightly. "Hold on." The female Knight ignited her jetpack suddenly, slowly lifting the duo into the air. Once they were hovering above the roof, Shipley dropped Dutch who crashed against the still-standing portion of the roof loudly. Laughing, Shipley lowered herself steadily until her feet were touching the roof, at which point she killed her thrusters.

"Asshole… You could have dropped me from a bit lower, you know." Dutch said in a slightly injured tone.

"Next time maybe you'll listen to me and have the engineers install a jetpack onto your suit, so you won't have to ride bitch anymore. Ha-ha," Jenny cackled. Dutch dismissed her comment with a subtle wave of his hand as he stumbled over to the caved-in side of the roof.

"Phillips! Hutchison!" He called, leaning over the side. "I don't see anything." Dutch said.

"After you." Shipley responded. Dutch leaped into the hole, landing on top of a fallen ceiling fan with a crashing thump. Shipley fell immediately afterwards, smashing the remains of a medical gurney. "Whoops." She whispered into the shady, dust-filled room.

"Human…Human…" A deep voice struggled to say from behind them. The Knight duo turned to see the owner of the voice, a super mutant, reaching for them with the only part of his body which hadn't been crushed under stone debris: his left arm.

"Poor, knuckle-dragging bastard." Said Shipley. "Should we kill him?" She asked.

"I would, but I can't see a way of doing it that wouldn't just leave him in more pain." Dutch explained.

"'More pain'? Don't go soft on me now, Skipper. He deserves this pain; all of them deserve this." Shipley responded. Dutch looked at the mutant's flailing arm. Furiously and aimlessly, it searched for something to grab and kill, like a blinded anaconda.

"I used to think so too, Jenny. Lately…I don't know." Dutch admitted.

"No, you clearly don't. But I do." Shipley responded. She blasted the green arm with her plasma rifle turning it into a puddle of goo. Unexpectedly, a noisy scuffle coming from the next floor up, interrupted their discussion. The two Knights hurried up the brief stairway and pointed their rifles down the long hallway. Of the rooms still standing, only one had an open door. Through it the leaders of Intrepid Squad could hear the scuffle grow into a legitimate all-out brawl. They peeked into the room and spotted three super mutants being fended off by a weaponless Knight in dark-blue accented T-60 power armor.

"On my go." Dutch ordered Shipley, who nodded affirmatively. "Hutch get down!" He shouted, before giving Shipley the 'go' signal. Hutch dropped onto his back, having immediately recognized his captain's voice, while Shipley and Dutch filled the room with plasma and laser bolts respectively. When the shooting was finally done, Hutch rose timidly to his feet. After realizing that he was the only one left standing, he threw his hands up victoriously.

"O captain, my captain! Ha-ha! Damn is it good to see you two!" Knight Hutchison effused.

"Likewise Hutch. I see your armor is still in one piece. What happened to your radio?" Asked Dutch, who greeted Hutch with a bro-hug.

"Yeah, we've been trying to reach you for like an hour now." Shipley added.

"Yeah, I know. I could hear you." Hutch started tapping his helmet. "My damn mic must've gotten fried or something when I took a nasty hit to the dome earlier."

"Hllwoo? Ihym til perlies ohfer hehr!" A muffled voice spoke from behind Hutchison.

"Is that Phillips? Is he ok?" Dutch asked, looking past Hutch to a Knight in red detailed T-60 armor who was lying still in the far corner of the room.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. He's just probably bitching about his suit being frozen or something. He took a super-sledge to the back, and I think it locked his armor up. I'll get him." Said Hutch, who then knelt down next to his childhood friend and current squadmate. He rolled Phillips' immobile suit over, and grabbed its fusion coil release. He yanked on the bent piece of metal until it broke off, revealing a busted yellow fusion coil.

"Yup. The hit must've burst his fusion coil open. I'll give him one of my spares." Hutch retrieved a fresh coil from his suits reserve battery compartment, and replaced Phillips' old one. In seconds the red suit's headlight flickered on and the man within it regained control over it. Springing to his feet, Phillips addressed the group.

"We've gotta get the girl!" Announced Phillips.

"What girl? What girl is he talking about?" Asked Shipley.

"I don't know, I was on this floor when the roof caved in. I came running in here and that's when I saw Raymond get turned into a mannequin." Hutchison recalled.

"That's really funny, Mike. Seriously, you should have signed up for an open mic at Moriarty's when you had the chance. I'm talking about the girl who was getting chased by a giant mutant hound. I saw it chase her into these rooms and so I went in after them. I had almost gotten to her too, when the floor fell out from beneath me." Phillips elaborated.

"Okay, so she's up there?" Shipley asked, pointing to the room above them where a portion of the floor was missing.

"Yeah, and so is that mutt." Phillips confirmed. "I don't know if she was able to get away from it."

"I'll go take a look." Shipley activated her suit's thruster pack and lifted herself up to the top floor of the collapsed Infirmary. She turned on her headlight and scanned the room for life. From behind a desk two snarling, green, mutant hound heads revealed themselves, followed by a third. "There's more than just one hound up here, Phillips. There's three of them."

"Three? No, there was only one. What about the girl?" Asked the red colored Knight.

"I don't see her. I'm gonna blast these dogs though, before they leap at me or something." Shipley aimed her plasma-firing sniper rifle at the hound, and straddled the trigger with her finger. Just as she began to squeeze, she was halted by the appearance of a raven-haired teenager who wrapped her arms around the mutated dogs.

"Whoa, shit!" Jenny pulled her rifle away from the four beings hiding behind the desk. "Never mind guys. I found her."

"P-please don't shoot them, miss. They're not like the other ones outside, I promise! They're nice, see?" The girl started petting the hounds and scratching their ears.

"I…I won't hurt them, so long as they don't give me a reason to." Shipley offered.

"Thank you! They saved me from all of those…mutants."

"What's your name, sweety?" The sergeant asked.

"I-I'm… I mean, my name is Shannon. I'm a scribe, or, at least I will be soon."

"Okay, good. Hello Shannon. We're Knights, my companions and I. We're Intrepid Squad. I need you to come with me now, so we can take you to the Steel Chapel: to safety." Shannon stood up slowly and walked over to Shipley, who lowered the girl down to Phillips who then placed her on the floor safely. Shipley watched as what she believed to be three mutant hounds, came climbing over the desk, revealing themselves to in fact be one hound with three independent heads. The mutant hound leaped down after the girl and sat by her side, licking the maroon cloth of her scribe's robe. Finally, Shipley dropped down, shaking the entire second floor of the crumbling building.

"Man, that thing is ugly. Just keep it away from me, alright." Phillips said, referring to the hound.

"I think they're beautiful." Shannon whispered, scrunching the dog's middle face.

"Don't mind him, little girl. Phillips is just scared of dogs, that's all. Always has been, ha-ha." Hutch recalled, to which Phillips responded with a shove.

"She said it protected her from the super mutants. Looking at them together now, I kind of believe it." Shipley admitted.

"We should get back to the chapel, and bring the girl to the rest of the scribes. We'll let them decide what to do with the dog. Now let's get out of this place before the rest of it falls on top of us." Dutch ordered.

\+ "How far away do you think that spire is anyway?" Asked Agrippina. "I probably should have asked Ramsey that before we left, huh?" A few members of the group smiled humorously at Aggie, as they walked through the shady Oaktree forest.

"I've got a better question." Liona said while attempting to safely walk over the humongous intertwining tree roots at her feet. "How come all of these trees are so big? I mean look I'm no botany scribe, but that doesn't mean I haven't read my fair share of books on the subject. I've never heard of trees growing to be this wide and tall in only 200 years. It doesn't make sense why they would be this big." Liona pointed out.

"Is it possible that they were planted here earlier than two centuries ago?" Rocky asked.

"No, that wouldn't make sense knowing what Ramsey told us. According to him, this place was excavated just a couple of years before the Great War." Liona reminded.

"These trees," Montecrief began, placing his palm on the bark of the closest tree to himself. "They're Oak trees. Old Oak trees. The town called Old Oakwood, the town I lived in for many years before today, was renamed that sometime after the war by early settlers for its many Oak trees. They used the trees for their survival needs; some say those old oaks are what saved them. Before the war, that town was a city named Raleigh: the capitol of a state named North Carolina."

"What are you getting at Monte? You're starting to bore me a little." Aggie said half jestingly.

"Well Aggie, while this may seem redundant to you based on what they taught you at the Institute, but to the rest of the party I believe that most of this is new information." Monte waited patiently for Aggie's response, but the synth simply gestured for him to continue. "As I was saying… These trees could have been brought from the city of Raleigh and placed down here, already fully grown. It's plausible that over the following two hundred years they could have grown to be something like what we're seeing now."

"That makes sense, I guess. But how would they have been able to bring entire trees down here? We got here through a tiny elevator, and I don't see a back door." Liona stated, poking holes in Monte's theory.

"Ooh, wait! I've got one!" Sweetheart exclaimed. "So this place was built for like, a bunch of scientists and whatnot, right?" Liona nodded. "And they were testing on the same stuff that made Rocky a super mutant, right?" Liona nodded again. "Okay, so what if the eggheads eventually, y'know over like the 50 years or so of nothing but testing on the stuff, got bored of using just animals as test subjects. What if instead they decided to try using it on plants…like these oak trees?" Sweety held his hands out with his palms up in a sort of, 'what do you think?' kind of way.

"It seems pretty far-fetched, but then again so is this entire place. It doesn't _not_ make sense." Liona admitted. "It would certainly explain the rapid development of all of this plant life." Just as Liona finished speaking, a particularly large oak tree the width of a small house began shaking and rattling as something large scurried about its interior. The group collectively snapped their attention to the gigantic asymmetrical tree. Their gawks were focused solely on the human-sized hole which had been bored into it by a force unknown to them.

"What the fuck was that?!" Sweetheart shouted, backing away from the tree.

"I think it was a squirrel! How bloody cute would that be?!" Agrippina asked, clasping her hands together in an attempt to contain her excitement.

"A giant rabid squirrel who's big enough to eat humans? How cute would that be? Not very cute Agrippina, that's how much!" Sweetheart shouted.

"You don't know that it's rabid!" Aggie defended the squirrel whose existence she had yet to confirm. Rocky, compelled equally from both curiosity and caution, was the first to approach the tree. He grabbed onto the barkless sides of the hole and peered through it.

"Do you see anything, Rocky?" Liona asked.

"Tell me if you see any giant leftover acorns!" Agrippina hoped with her fingers crossed.

"I don't see -" Suddenly the entire vault went dark, and nobody could see anything. Rocky quickly removed his head from the tree's hole, scraping the back of it.

"Damn." He muttered, consoling his head. "What happened to the light?"

"Ramsey did say this place had an artificial day and night cycle, but that sure didn't seem like a gradual sunset to me." Liona remembered.

"Tremendous. There's no way we'll be able to find our way out of the forest in this darkness." Monte asserted.

"Hoot-hoot-hoot!" The whole group stopped speaking and listened.

"Did anybody else just hear an owl?" Asked Monte in a low voice.

"I think I did." Agrippina responded quietly.

"What's an owl?" asked Sweetheart.

"It's a nocturnal species of bird." Montecrief answered. "I thought they had gone extinct."

"They probably did on the surface, but who knows how many species of animals the scientists brought down here before the bombs fell." Whispered Liona.

"So what you're saying, Liona, is that there could be squirrels down here?"

"Would you shut up about squirrels, Agrippina?!" Sweetheart yelled, breaking the chain of whispered responses.

"Hey Monte, where are you? I need to see those matches." Rocky said. Monte forced his skin to glow a brighter green, signaling to Rocky his position. The LEO mutant reached over and grabbed the matchbox from the ghoul's hand, which he then used to light the two extra torches he had picked up in the catacombs. When he had finally lit both, he returned to Monte his matches, and offered the second torch to Liona. Liona grabbed it, illuminating her own face and the face of the synth holding tightly on to her sleeve.

"Good thinking Rocky!" Liona said. Suddenly the tree began shaking once again. The second time it shook so hard that several large branches snapped from its body, littering the forest floor below. Rocky held his torch near to the bark of the tree, exposing the face of a giant owl with two massive, twisting horns and yellow eyes. The torchlight spooked the man-sized owl, forcing it out of the tree hole and into the 'night' sky. The group lost sight of it as it flew above the tree line, where from they could hear many other winged beasts hooting amongst themselves. The group watched three of the birds swoop down below the tree line and perch on as many branches. Silently the two groups watched one another, carefully reading each other's posture and expressions for any sign of a threat. The largest owl hooted aggressively, prompting the other two to hoot along with it.

"Those things…are not owls." Monte whispered.

"I knew I should have left after we found the kid." Sweetheart whined.

"Rocky look out, I think one of them is moving!" Agrippina warned.

The largest one, the flock matriarch, dropped from its perch and stood just a few yards in front of the group. She spread herself out as wide as she could in order to display her impressive wingspan, before lunging at Rocky, talons first. Rocky swung his torch at the horned beast mid-flight, scaring it back into the treetops.

"Alright, this is good. I think they're afraid of fire. On the count of three, I want everybody to run in that direction, towards the spire. It can't be that far now. Liona you have a torch, so you'll have to take the lead. I'll watch your backs with mine. Ready? 1…2…3!" The group sprinted through the woods following Liona's torchlight, and being shielded from the winged beasts by Rocky's. Rocky had to run with his head constantly looking over his shoulder at the swarming birds as they came swooping down for him. For a while he managed to keep the nocturnal predators at bay with intermittent swipes of his torch, until eventually he tripped on an overgrown tree root and tumbled to the grass losing his torch. Immediately the birds abandoned their chase of the group and focused on what they saw as easy prey. Rocky rolled over onto his back just in time to see one of the owls grab his leg with its talons. In one motion he unsheathed his cleaver and lopped off the bird's raptorial limb, causing it to release a blood-curdling screech. The bird's disembodied talon remained stuck in Rocky's calf, while the creature itself flew away to safety. He hacked away at a few more of the birds, wounding each enough to quit the hunt. Meanwhile, the group had noticed Rocky's disappearance and found ways to help. Liona fired hot blue energy orbs into the closest tree, lighting it on fire and scaring away several of the owls, while Montecrief and Sweetheart fired shots into the crowd of furiously flapping wings. Eventually the burning tree fell down next the birds, and the resulting embers lit many of their plumages ablaze. Suddenly the artificial lights flicked back on, and the sky returned to a calm blue. The remaining birds stopped attacking Rocky and returned to their hole-homes in the trees leaving behind a cloud of dust, smoke, and feathers. Rocky quickly stood up and ran to the end of the forest, where he could see the others waiting for him. Exhausted, he held on to his knees and breathed deeply.

"You okay, Greeny?" Agrippina asked after patting Rocky's back.

"That was a little too close." Rocky said. "I think we'd better get to the spire before the lights go out again. I don't wanna find out what else here hunts at night."

"Never fear, we're already here!" Aggie said. "Did I just rhyme? I did, didn't I?" Rocky let go of his knees and looked up, spotting the spire in its entirety from below. It was no wonder why he had missed seeing it on his approach, Rocky thought. The building was even more decrepit than he had previously believed it to be; the land itself had completely swallowed it in moss, grass, and vines. The only part of it left unaffected by the overgrowth was a small compartment housing an elevator at its base.

"Look, there's another elevator." Rocky pointed out to the group. They walked along the paved walkway towards the black tower, shrouded in both mystery and foliage. Rocky pressed the call button on the metal door and soon the elevator opened, allowing the group to enter the spire.

"Well, I've now ridden in more elevators in the past two hours than I've ridden in the last two hundred years." Montecrief announced, prompting the entire group to chuckle. Again Monte pressed the only button provided, this time taking them up. Along with Boston and Cyrus, they would be the first living souls to enter the laboratory in over a hundred years.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Spire

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 9 - Newton's Sevenfold**

\+ After a surprisingly brief ride in The Spire's elevator, the group of five found themselves standing in the middle of a large circular room. Once the humming elevator sensed that all of them had vacated its cabin, it immediately slid its doors shut and shuttled back towards the ground allowing a metal cover to slide over the hole from which it came. With the elevator out of the way, the group could now see what looked like an abandoned meeting room, surrounded on all sides by padded metal chairs and colorful desks with skeletons in or beside them facing the center of the room. The walls, the ceilings, and the floors were all constructed using the same abys-black metal material as the elevator, rendering the room almost completely colorless. The only exceptions to the drab interior design were located on and behind each desk and chair where there were short hallways leading to doors with labels and bright colors. Without a word spoken, each member of the group wandered towards a specifically colored desk and began pondering the significance of it. As each of them wracked their brain for a conclusion, one suddenly came to all of them at once.

"Roy G. Biv." Everyone except for Agrippina thought.

"Doctors, Red and Orange.

Yellow and Green.

Blue, Indigo, and Violet." Three voices of ascending tone said in their heads.

"Uhh, guys. I think I'm hearing voices. Like a lot of them… In my head." Sweetheart said pressing his hands tightly against his ears.

"Me too… They're talking about…colors." Liona responded.

"What are you two talking about? I don't hear anything." Agrippina asked while tilting her ears forward like two radio antennae.

"More than just colors.

Newton's Sevenfold.

A rainbow." The voices, while they had not a physical vibration, sounded very different from one another nonetheless. The one who spoke first sounded cold and stern: authoritative. The second one to speak sounded sensitive and anxious: neurotic. The last one sounded warm and concerned: feminine.

"What the fuck is going on?" Sweety panicked slightly. "I haven't had so many voices in my head since the last time I overdosed on mentats and jet!"

"Calm yourself, waste-marauder.

We mean you no immediate harm." Two of the voices promised.

"Who or what are you? How are you speaking to us?" Liona demanded.

"We do not speak, girl.

Not anymore we don't.

Individual names are no longer relevant. You may refer to us as the Coalescence." The voices revealed. Those affected by the voices had yet to move since the beginning of the interaction, leaving Agrippina completely flabbergasted as she wandered from member to member waving her hands in an attempt to garner their attention.

"Is anybody going to tell me what's happening? You're starting to freak me out, you guys!" Aggie admitted.

"We communicate to you telepathically.

We don't have larynxes nor tongues.

Nor lungs, nor teeth. We are completely disincarnate."

"There are…voices…in our heads, Aggie. They're communicating to us via telepathy, somehow." Rocky explained to the synth.

"We were told that there were seven scientists here. I assume you're what's left of those scientists." Liona speculated.

"A story? It's been a very long time since we've told one.

We will tell you what you want to know, if you'll please excuse our verbosity.

We don't get visitors, hardly ever. Today is proving to be quite eventful for us."

"We were selected to come here, - not to save our world mind you, for it was surely doomed - but to create a new one.

A botanist, a mathematician, a neuroscientist, a zoologist, a biochemist, an engineer, and…a microbiologist, I think…yes.

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet. We were the overseers of this vault, all of us."

"With the Forced Evolutionary Virus at our disposal and as much lab equipment as any gentleman-scientist could dream of, we were tasked with developing a new, better life form to serve in humanities place atop the food-chain. A sentient race, more capable of surviving in the new world; a race capable of _thriving_ in it.

We brought many different species of animals into the vault for our tests, and we cultivated The Garden for them to inhabit while we studied them."

"That explains the giant birds of prey. You surely outdid yourselves with those ones, I'll say." Montecrief complimented, his sarcasm eluding the Coalescence's detection.

"Hmm? The Bubos, you mean? Yes. We were once very proud of them.

Great Horned Owls, they were; Tiger Owls, if you like. The F.E.V. maximized their predatory skills making them very survivable indeed. In time, they even began to grow extra apposable digits!

Alas, they proved to be far too dull to satisfy our needs. If given a millennia to breed, never would they _thrive_ as humanity once did." The Coalescence remarked.

"And what about the trees?" Sweetheart asked. "Those oaks were really fucking big. Like, too big."

"Our doing as well, just like all that you've seen since entering our dominion. The result of our efforts were physically immense beings, with the collective mental acuity of a single co-co-nut. Mentally insignificant things, trees.

They certainly were a challenge to us at first; they've not at all the same anatomy as owls, turtles, or…humans.

Eventually all bends to the will of the persistent scientist, however, and we had seven."

"Yes, indeed. You lock enough sexually deprived scientific geniuses into a world-class laboratory for long enough, and I assure you all of space and time will eventually become common knowledge to its inhabitants. Vault-Tec was so focused on prestige and credentials however, that they neglected to account for all of the corresponding _egos_." The first voice remembered.

"What exactly happened here?" Rocky redirected the voices, who had strayed from the topic.

"Science: that is what happened here, mutant. We spent over one hundred years trapped in this vault. During that time, the seven of us had found little success in our endeavors dealing with the F.E.V. The virus, while certainly potent, was astoundingly unrefined.

And our test subjects weren't proving to be very…viable. So we lured some of the waste marauders, like the ruffian one amongst you, down into the vault.

In secret of course. We couldn't allow the others to find out. There were self-imposed rules against testing on humans back then; as were there rules against contact with the outside world."

"Not _my_ rules. Not _ours_. If it wasn't for the others… All four of them were working together - conspiring no doubt - to prevent us three more brilliant minds from achieving our goal.

Regardless, with the help of our colleagues at a place called the Institute, eventually we did develop a more refined version of the F.E.V. We called it, the Supplementary Psychoactive Virus.

We had planned to maximize our new virus' potential by using it on those already affected by the F.E.V. Super Mutants, I believe you call them."

"Yes, but the others discovered our plans eventually. I suppose it was rather easy for them considering they did nothing but laze about all day while we performed _real_ science!

We were made aware that they had found us out when they ordered a…a meeting of the minds.

We all knew the penalty would be severe for our transgressions: death."

"Yes, and so we took the necessary precautions. We approached this very room, each with a syringe full of SPV in hand.

When they confronted us, we offered no mitigation.

When they voted, sentencing us to death, we made not pleas nor bargains."

"It was then that we injected our veins with the dripping needles hidden up our sleeves.

As the SPV took hold of our minds, it separated them from our anatomies.

Our former allied scientists stood up, withdrew their weapons, and fired them at our empty husks in vain."

"Then we held the world's first _true_ battle of the minds. Our boundless consciousness was pitted against their glorified biological hard-drives. We won, of course." By the end of the story the members of the group found themselves leaning and sitting on the desks behind which the battle had occurred. Rocky looked at one of the skeletons, sitting at the green colored desk.

"So you killed them… Is that what you're saying?" Rocky queried tentatively.

" _Egos_ , I remind you. Egos and jealous hearts are what killed them, mutant." The first voice spoke.

"So which three are you? Of the colored scientists, I mean." Liona asked.

"We've already told you, human.

We are the Coalescence." Spoke the first and third voices.

"No, I mean before you became…whatever you are." Liona specified.

"Before? It is hard to tell, truthfully. After we defeated the others, we soon began battling amongst ourselves. I forget to what end, exactly, but battle we did. We fought for so long, and so intimately, that as time progressed it became nearly impossible to tell which of us was which - to tell whose thoughts were whose. You see, then it became clear: Our minds had, effectively, coalesced." The first voice explained. Rocky looked over the desks in the room and saw three skeletons resting beside as many chairs. One was dressed in the color blue, the second one donned the color yellow, and the last wore a violet coat.

"Do the names, Dr. Blue, Dr. Yellow, and Dr. Violet sound familiar?" He asked.

"Why yes they do. They were colleagues. Dr. Blue was a name given to Dr. Hasburn: an excellent Biochemist.

Dr. Yellow… That was the pseudonym for Dr. Godfrey, the Neuroscientist, I think.

And of course we all remember Dr. Violet, also known as Dr. Medina. She was a wonderful Microbiologist…and a hell of a knitter too." The voices recalled one by one.

"It's difficult to be sure, but after looking at these skeletons, I think it's safe to assume that that's who you three were." Rocky explained. "They're the only ones left in their seats."

"Yes… I suppose you could be right… Yes! I am Dr. Blue! …Or was I Yellow?

No Dr. Blue, I think I was Dr. Yellow… Yes, I'm sure of it now!

And that would make me…Dr. Violet! Oh yes, how splendid!" The Voices celebrated their remembrance.

"I'm glad I could help. Maybe you three could help us out now." Rocky ventured.

"Of course, mutant! Anything!" Spoke the third voice, Dr. Violet.

"We need to find the two who came up here before us. There should've been a man and a super mutant. Have you seen them, or…felt them?" Rocky asked.

"No, we have not noticed anybody except for you all. Although, there was a slight…disturbance earlier.

Yes! I remember the disturbance, Dr. Blue! We sensed an energy presence but were blocked by something. A device maybe.

I've never heard of such a device, Dr. Yellow. But certainly something unnatural was preventing our telepathy from pervading throughout the Spire." Spoke the doctors.

"Which way did this disturbance go?" Liona asked.

"Up, I believe. Perhaps into – it…it went into the F.E.V. chambers!

I think… Oh, no! They must have come to steal the S.P.V.!

They must be stopped!" The doctor's presences grew so strong in the group's minds then that they began to apply excruciating pressure to their brains. Clutching their heads, everyone but Agrippina fell to their knees and screamed in pain.

"What's going on?!" Aggie yelled.

"Answer my question truthfully, for we will know if you don't! Did you come here to steal our lives work!? Our legacy?!" Dr. Blue interrogated.

"No! We came to stop that from happening!" Rocky forced through clenched teeth.

"I don't believe them, Dr. Blue! We should kill them! Eliminate them like we did the others!" said Dr. Violet. The pressure grew to be too immense then as those affected writhed around on the floor from the excruciating agony. Agrippina attempted to console her companions, all the while being completely unaware of what ailed them.

"Liona! Rocky! What on earth is happening to you?!" Agrippina worried.

"Wait doctors! I think there is another energy here. A non-human energy!" Dr. Yellow said.

"Stop this! Whatever is happening, stop!" Agrippina exclaimed. Suddenly the pain regressed to that of a dull headache for those affected.

"What is that…thing? Is it a robot? Some kind of Rob-Co monstrosity?" Dr. Blue asked.

"She's a synthetic… a synthetic human." Rocky answered between labored pants.

"An android? The work of the Institute, no doubt. I knew we should have enlisted a robotics expert! Knew it!

Never mind that, Dr. Blue. How are we going to stop her?

We cannot, Dr. Yellow. We are helpless against a being devoid of a natural biology."

"Hmm. A new strategy then. Humans: Since we cannot harm your synthetic friend, it seems we must come to an agreement.

Yes, we'll make a deal. She leaves, and we won't turn your brains into mush." Spoke doctors Blue and Violet.

"Is everything okay? What happened?" Agrippina asked, helping Liona to her feet as the pain in the scribe's head subsided.

"They're occupying our minds, Aggie. We're helpless against them, but you aren't. They can't hurt you because you're a synth." Liona explained. "They want you to leave in exchange for our lives."

"Leave? Okay, fine, whatever. But only if we can all leave together." Agrippina demanded.

"No." Rocky shouted, as he pounded a crater into a nearby desk. "We will not leave, doctors. We are not a threat to your S.P.V., but there is someone who is, and he may've already found it for all we know. You have to let us go, because we are the only ones who can stop him." Rocky bargained.

"I…I believe he's telling the truth.

Yes, his thoughts are clear. No contradictions. No discrepancies.

They truly have come to foil the defilers."

"Only if you show us the way." Pleaded Rocky.

"The way? The way will be of no use to you, mutant.

No use at all, I'm afraid. You've got to be a human. Not a ghoul or an android, or a mutant.

What about the female intruder, doctors."

"What do I have to do?" Liona asked.

"It will require blood - a small sample of D.N.A. from you, human.

A nasty prick of the thumb. I never did enjoy needles. Simply barbaric technology, that.

Put your thumb on the console near the shuttle, girl. Lay it over the tiny hole." The voices explained. Liona walked over to the strange white console and placed her thumb over the hole in the center of it. She waited anxiously for the needle to pierce her finger, until a nerve-wracking thirty seconds had passed.

"How long does it - Ow!" Liona yelled. "Never mind." The petite scribe consoled her sore thumb between her lips. Soon another elevator came flying down from the ceiling above and into the center of the room.

"Before you leave here there are some things that you all should know." Spoke Dr. Blue in their heads. "Firstly, you'll need to know about the virus' location. The S.P.V. is contained within a small briefcase located in the furthest room from the shuttle entrance. It too will require a human's D.N.A. to access. The Pinnacle was where we performed all of our tests on the viruses, and as such it is where we stored all of the F.E.V. as well.

Secondly, it's important to recognize that the S.P.V. was originally intended to be used on a subject who had already been introduced to the F.E.V., that is, until we realized just how powerful the two viruses combined could make a creature. If the mutant you referred to earlier is able to obtain and use the S.P.V. on himself, the effects on his biology could prove…immeasurable.

And lastly, you should know that as soon as the S.P.V. container is removed from its docking station, the entire vault will begin to explode. That is all. Be on your way."

"Wait, what?! Did she just say explode?" Sweetheart repeated.

"Yes. Don't worry though, waster. This is good news! The alarm is extremely obnoxious, and you would have heard it by now had they already found the S.P.V." Spoke Dr. Yellow.

"What happens if we hear the alarm? Is there an escape route of some kind?" Monte asked.

"Hmmm… No, ghoul. There isn't. The vault door will shut and everything inside will perish within minutes." Dr. Blue replied plainly.

"There has to be another way out." Liona thought aloud. "What about all of the mutants outside?"

"Like I said, human: Everything inside the vault will perish. The animals will not be spared.

The explosion's effects must be absolute, so as to prevent anything from leaving here with the S.P.V.

The virus is far too dangerous. We knew it was almost as soon as we created it." The doctors said in their usual order.

"What I meant was: how did you intend to release the mutants into the wastes so that they could 'repopulate the world'? Assuming you created a viable species here." Liona asked.

"It's quite simple actually. We decided that if somehow we created a species more intelligent and more survivable than us, we wouldn't need to create a way for them to get to the surface. If a species we created had surpassed the intellect of a human, they would have eventually done it by themselves. So if what you were hoping for were teleporters or some other kind of science-fiction mumbo-jumbo, I'm sorry to say that isn't the case.

It's not as if we didn't try, mind you. You can blame Dr. Violet for that failure.

It wasn't my fault, you misremembering imbecile! The Institute wasn't willing to trade that technology for anything less than the S.P.V. What was I to do, give our single most important piece of technology to them?" Spoke the Doctors.

"Fine. We'd better get moving." Rocky declared to everyone in the room, who all nodded in agreement. As the group entered the elevator they felt their brain-aches completely cease leaving them all with a strong sense of relief.

"Some kind of fucking day, huh Monte?" Sweetheart said, nudging the ghoul.

"You're telling me…" Monte grumbled as he massaged his forehead.

"One last thing, humans…synthetic or otherwise. If you would care for our aid, all you need do is destroy whatever device currently prevents us from finding the interlopers." Dr. Blue offered. "The S.P.V. is far too powerful to leave this vault. In the event that the virus is stolen, you must take every measure to destroy it. Our work will not be this world's salvation; that much is clear." Rocky grumbled a response along the lines of 'got it' as the elevator doors shut. Montecrief once again pressed the only available button lifting them to the very top of the Spire and to Boston and Cyrus.

\+ Boston led Cyrus deeper into the Pinnacle's maze-like interior, passing room after room filled with spilt barrels of glowing F.E.V. and the deceased monsters it once created. The intertwining and dead-ending halls of the Pinnacle were paved with black tiles and lit by bright, blue ceiling lights perched atop metal beams just above head-level. The spotlights served just as well at illuminating their path forward, as they did at obscuring everything above them in darkness. Despite the Spire's dilapidated outer appearance, the inside of the pre-war construction had surprised Cyrus thus far by how well maintained it had seemed. The Pinnacle however, was not nearly as clinical or sterile as the Spire's lower portions. Blood smears covered the walls and shattered glass from the many subject observation windows crunched beneath their boots. Unexpectedly, Cyrus stopped walking, stood in front of the closest test room to himself and peered into it. Soon after, Boston stopped walking as well. He looked over his shoulder where he saw his human companion staring pensively at one of the failed subjects. Boston stepped to Cyrus' side and joined him in examining the room's interior through the cracked glass window. They stayed like that, watching the ungodly corpse together in silence for an entire minute, until Cyrus finally spoke.

"Harrowing thing, isn't it?" He muttered. "The poor creature… I can't even tell if it was a human or an animal before…all of this." Cyrus didn't look at Boston as he spoke; his gaze remained fixated on the mutated corpse.

"It is certainly a discomforting sight to behold." Boston replied quickly. "Trial and error: this is the way science has always progressed. It's the difference between this lump of rotted flesh, and a super mutant like myself." Boston studied Cyrus' face, finding that his words served to soothe the human little. "You are fearful, Cyrus. Why?"

"No offense Boston, but were my brain not slowly withering away, I would have preferred to remain just how I am." Cyrus finally looked up at Boston.

"I see. The human to super mutant metamorphosis is a tumultuous one, indeed. Some become ugly, disfigured creatures like the centaur, while more fortunate ones stand the chance of becoming super mutants. It is…unpredictable." Said Boston.

"Do you remember your transformation? Do you remember what it was like?" Cyrus asked, his interest piqued. Boston smiled faintly. He held out his hands as if he were attempting to study them for the first time.

"I'm afraid your situation is profoundly unique, Cyrus. Not many humans undergo the transformation willingly. Mine took place long ago, and I've never been able to fully recall how it came to be. The 'hows' of it can be surmised easily enough though; I was more interested in the 'whys'. Fortunately, I had a great leader who taught me everything I needed to know; a leader who showed me his plans for the future of this world. I intend to be that kind of leader for you now, Cyrus." Cyrus looked away from Boston for a moment. Curious, he held out his own hands to compare them to Boston's. They both chuckled at the ludicrous juxtaposition of their fingers and palms side-by-side.

"What do you think happened here? What with all of this broken glass and blood, I mean." Cyrus asked Boston.

"Nothing pleasant, that's for certain." Boston pointed out the obvious. "One could surmise, based on the direction of the blood splatter and the glass ejection angles, that the creatures attempted to escape their prisons at some point. The ones who did most likely resorted to cannibalizing the other inhabitants. A sort of exercise in survival of the fittest, you could say."

"Yes, except no one was 'fit' in this case. After a while, even the strongest of them must have eventually starved to death. Who knows how long they were left up here." Cyrus wondered.

"Come - we must be close now." Boston walked away, disappearing around the next corner, while Cyrus continued watching the dead mutant. Silently, and with a deep-breath, he took the time to solidify its image in his head, before pursuing Boston.

They walked for another few minutes, passing several more labs of varying size, before finally arriving at end of the Pinnacle. The unlikely duo scaled the brief staircase of the final laboratory, and halted before its steel door.

"There -" Boston pointed out the D.N.A. lock beside the door. "It's the final one. Inside this laboratory we will find what we're looking for." Cyrus nodded and placed his thumb over the scanner, which promptly pierced his skin and analyzed his blood. Suddenly the metal door audibly unsealed itself, swinging away from them and into the dark room. Boston pushed past Cyrus as he entered the room, which immediately sensed his presence and turned on its lights. Soon afterwards, Cyrus stepped into the room timidly, studying all of its pre-war instruments and furniture. He watched as Boston walked to the middle of the room, towards an aluminum briefcase perched on a metal stand.

"Is that it?" Cyrus asked, peeking around Boston's shoulder.

"It is." Replied the mutant.

"Alright. Then let's grab it and get the hell out of this dreadful place. I don't want to be in this vault any longer than I need to be." Cyrus hurried the mutant, while examining the room around himself.

"One moment." Boston noticed a peculiar blue wire protruding from the briefcase dock. With his finger, he traced it all the way back to a terminal on the other side of the room. He turned on the terminal, and immediately began searching through its systems and applications.

"What are you doing now?" Cyrus' curiosity finally prompted him to ask.

"These doctors… They'd sooner discover time travel than learn to properly rig an explosive device." Boston responded whilst typing away at the terminal.

"'Explosive device'? Is this thing booby-trapped?" Cyrus started backing away slowly. Boston finished typing then, and returned to the briefcase.

"Fret not, Cyrus. It has been de-boobied." The mutant opened the case so that he could study the three syringes left within it beneath the laboratory lights. "Hmm. I thought it would be…greener." Boston mumbled in a near judgmental tone towards the purple vials of S.P.V.

"Is that it? It's just a shot? Well, here I was half expecting to be taking a bath in a barrel of goop." Cyrus joked.

"You can take all the goop baths you want, Cyrus, just don't touch these syringes. There's plenty of F.E.V. to go around now." The mutant said without turning to face the human. He simply continued studying the contents within the glass syringes in the light.

"Sure, right. And I thought you didn't have a sense of humor, Boston. So how're we going to do this? Should I inject it myself, or do you -"

"Neither." Boston stated humorlessly. "Like I said: go find a barrel of F.E.V., and crawl into it."

"Wait, you…you aren't serious, right? What about the radiation I've sustained? The ordinary F.E.V. would just turn me into one of those mindless freaks!" Cyrus' voice quivered slightly.

"Yes, most likely. But isn't that better than the alternative, Cyrus?" Boston replied plainly.

"I should have known... Working with a mutant... What was I thinking? There was only one way this was ever going to end. After everything I've done, you're going to betray me like this? We made a deal!"

"'Betray'? Our only deal was that you would help me gain access to this vault, and in return I would show you a cure for your disease. The F.E.V. is a cure, just not the one you were expecting. I've done you no wrong, Cyrus." Boston insisted as he sealed the briefcase of syringes.

"Green-Devil!" Cyrus was overflowing with fury. His ordinarily pale face creased and burned a hot red. "I did everything you asked! The LEO data, the Pip-Boy - everything! And for what?! To be discarded like some broken trinket!?" Boston faced the Elder, and lowered his head so that their faces were level with one another.

"Listen to me, Cyrus, for there is truth in my words. I could not have done this without you, this is true. But the S.P.V. is not intended for the likes of you. Use the F.E.V., and become a super mutant. With the LEO data you've given me, I will someday be able to convert these east-coast abominations into truly superior beings both physically and mentally - including you. Eventually you all will become like me, just as the Master had intended: perfect beings. But using the S.P.V. within these syringes, I will be able to evolve myself beyond what even the Master could have hoped to accomplish. You helped me, not to be discarded like a 'broken trinket', but to aid in the progress of human evolution. The mutants will inherit this world, and you played no small role in making that so." Their glares lingered on each other for a while longer, until at last Boston returned to his normal posture and began walking towards the door, briefcase in hand. Cyrus, fueled by both hatred and vengeance, leaped onto the green mutants back, and jabbed his combat knife's blade several inches deep into his shoulder. Boston roared and jolted backwards into the center of the room, where he tripped on a stool forcing him to drop the briefcase as he fell to the floor. As soon as they landed, Cyrus pushed off of the mutant and towards the now open syringe case. Extending his body as far as he could, the Elder was able to grab one of the syringes and inject it into his chest before Boston could react. He stood up awkwardly, stared at the needle in his chest, and awaited whatever fate he had earned.

"Fool…" Boston whispered. "You have only managed your own doom."

"I had to do... No choice…" Cyrus whispered, his eyes staring vacantly into Boston's. A moment later his limp body dropped to the floor with an inglorious thud, completely absent of vitality. Boston rose up from the floor and retrieved the briefcase, which now held only two syringes. He sealed the container shut, before removing Cyrus' dagger from his shoulder. Boston was holding the bloody blade in front of himself and watching his own blood drip from it, when to his bewilderment, he noticed a series of footsteps ascending the laboratory staircase rapidly. After turning hastily to face the doorway, Boston's eyes nearly doubled in size once he saw Rocky amongst the intruders.

"Roc…is that really you?" Boston asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Boston, it's -" Rocky began, before noticing the slumped over body of the Elder laying on the floor beside the mutant holding a bloody knife. "The Elder - What did you do to him, Boston?"

"Roc, your voice… Clearly you've changed. Cyrus had told me about the LEO procedure, but hearing and seeing are two very different things." Boston remained beside Cyrus' body while he spoke to Rocky, the briefcase loosely dangling in his hand. "I did nothing to the Elder, despite the obvious implications of the unfortunate image before you. This knife - he stuck it into my back just before injecting a syringe full of S.P.V. into his own arm. He was a very desperate man you see, Roc."

"My name isn't Roc anymore, Boston. It's Rocky."

"Fitting. A new name, for a new man. But you aren't really a _man_ at all, are you _Rocky_? No. You're a super mutant, just like me. Just like Chop and the others. Regardless of what they've told you, and no matter what they've promised you, they will never see you as an equal, Roc." Boston stated in a soft tone.

"As usual, you're wrong, Boston. Look around me. There are many people who have already chosen to accept me despite our kind's cruel history." Rocky stood sideways so that Boston could see the faces of his followers. Boston's eyes switched from one to the other, until he came across Agrippina's face. He lingered on the synth for a moment longer than he did on anyone else, before returning his gaze to Rocky.

"What is this? Are you referring to the ragtag crew of misfits behind you? Do these few biological aberrations serve as your only evidence of acceptance? Roc, you belong with your own kind. With your restored intellect, you truly have achieved supremacy over humankind, just as I have. With an army of mutants like us at our side, there would be no force in the wastes strong enough to keep us from creating a new world." Boston envisioned.

"I know who you are." Spoke a voice from behind Rocky. "I've never forgotten that face, even after all of this time." Agrippina continued, stepping forward.

"What do you mean you remember him, Agrippina?" Liona asked.

"I remember him from back at the Institute. He was the reason I was created." Aggie explained.

"You were created by a super mutant?" Asked Sweetheart scratching his shaved head.

"No, silly raider. A doctor named Madison Li created me. She was the one who developed my Furtive Synth Component. She made me so that I could help her spy on the other scientists in the Institute, and specifically on Dr. Maron." Aggie told the group.

"Who was Doctor Maron?" Rocky asked.

"I am Doctor Maron. Or rather, I _was_ Dr. Maron." Boston admitted. "Psychiatrist Maron, more precisely."

"A super mutant in the Institute? How is that even possible?" Liona asked incredulously.

"It isn't common for the Institute to recruit from the surface, and it's especially uncommon for them to recruit a super mutant, but Father saw something special in my abilities." Boston began. "Long ago, the Institute attempted to infiltrate a town I was living in: a settlement comprised of all sorts of beings named Sojourn. I had been working there as a medical doctor for a while and as such I had come to learn quite a bit about its multifarious inhabitants. One night the Institute abducted the town's eldest leader in secret, a ghoul, and replaced him with a synthetic copy of himself. Using my knowledge of his prior behavior however, I quickly discerned the synth's true identity and destroyed it. The Institute of course found out about this, but instead of sending more androids to kill me they sent a Courser, an elite synth soldier, to recruit me. They gave me the position of head Psychiatrist and put me in charge of refining the synthetic personalities so that they could better emulate biological beings. Furthermore, I also played a role in recreating the personalities of any abducted wasters using our synthetic copies. The Institute - so that's where I remember you from, synthetic."

"Madison Li, I remember that name. My mother used to tell me about a Madison Li who aided in the development of Project Purity, up in the Capitol Wasteland." Said Liona.

"That's the one. She was my creator, and she was a brilliant woman." Agrippina said. "Using some of my recorded data she was able to gather that Dr. Maron was working with Dr. Syverson, the head of F.E.V. research, in order to develop a widespread delivery device for the F.E.V. The device would have been capable of spreading the virus in its airborne form all across the wastes. She brought the evidence to our leader, Father, and they decided to confront the doctors."

"Your surveillance was quite blatant, however. I was long gone by the time Father stepped in." Boston said.

"Yes you were, but Dr. Syverson wasn't. We found him dead in his laboratory." Agrippina stated. "He had been murdered by Dr. Maron - by him." Aggie erected an accusatory finger at Boston, who dismissed her ire with a subtle chuckle.

"Obviously, synthetic. I couldn't allow him to live while knowing the full extent of my plans." Boston steered into the accusation. "It is regrettable that the old man had to die though. He was one of the few humans who understood the full capabilities of our race, Roc."

"He's the reason I was sent away from my home. Dr. Li thought it best I pursue Dr. Maron into the wastes, and that I kill him before he hatches another plan against humanity." Aggie said.

"You wouldn't be the first synth to try. The Institute has sent many coursers after me over the years. There's been considerably less as of late, though. Perhaps they finally got what was coming to them for engineering such abhorrent beings like yourself, synthetic. The answer to the wastelands struggles lies not within synthetic humans, but in evolved humans." Boston said with his arms spread out as if he were attempting to display himself. "If you've gotten this far, then that means that you've met the doctors, no doubt. I'm not sure how you all were able to survive an encounter with them without a psychic-nullifier, -" Boston pointed to his rusty crown. "- but it will take much more than that if you intend to oppose me." Boston opened the briefcase and showed its contents to Rocky. "There are two more doses left of the S.P.V., Roc. One for you, and one for me. This is the final step in our ascendance. No longer will the Brotherhood, the Enclave, the Institute or any other pathetic group of humans dictate the destiny of the Earth. This world has been burnt to its roots and nearly destroyed in their hands. In ours it could be rebuilt even stronger than it was before the Great War." Rocky lifted one of the syringes from the container, and held it high in his hand.

"You speak to me as kin, Boston." Rocky began in a deep, low voice. "You say we can change the world for the better, and that all I need to do in order for that to happen, is to change who I am once again; to become even more of a monster, so that I am further separated from the man I once was. And for what? To rule the wastes with you? Even to you that must sound…lonely. Look behind me, Boston. Look at this group of mutants, of humans, and of aberrations. We've been able to defeat every obstacle presented to us today, whether it be an army of raiders, or a flock of raptorial man-eating owls, or even a trio of ethereal and homicidal doctors all due to the fact that we are superficially different, and yet, fundamentally similar." Rocky glanced back at the group, and smiled briefly. "If after looking at us you can't see why your plans for Super Mutant supremacy are flawed, then you truly are hopelessly deluded, Boston." Rocky crushed the syringe in his hand and let the fluids drip to the floor. Boston watched as the precious S.P.V. spotted the floor of the Spire, utterly wasted. With a deep sigh, Rocky's former clan leader reached into the briefcase himself and removed the final syringe. He tossed the briefcase to the ground before plunging the final needle into his green arm.

"You've made your choice then, Roc." Boston calmly stated. "Now I want you to watch carefully, _Rocky;_ the last thing your unworthy eyes will see is what you could have been." From the point of injection outward, Boston's skin began to darken into an unnatural purple color. The group led by Rocky backed up towards the doorway and watched as the being known as Boston transformed into something much less human, and something far more powerful. Reaching up to his head, he removed his psychic-nullifier, allowing his newfound psionic abilities to be accessed. In an attempt to harness the overwhelming power of the S.P.V., the mutant willed his power into tangible form. Boston watched curiously as a swirling purple energy struggled to take shape around his forearm. It flickered periodically, once nearly completely going out like a woodsman's fire consuming its final piece of lumber. Desperately, Boston played the role of such a survivor; swapping oxygen for focus and scarlet flames for lavender. The energy responded accordingly, amassing into an executioner's blade comprised entirely of the unknown forces he commanded. He spread his limbs outward and hovered into the air, releasing a force which blasted the group back into the surrounding walls. "It would seem that you're not the only one in need of a change of identity, Roc. Long ago there was the Master, who created and guided the super mutants, until the day he was destroyed. Today, the mutants will follow a new voice. _The_ Voice." The purple mutant raised his free hand and pulled it toward himself, bringing with it Rocky's body.

"Rocky, no!" Liona exclaimed. She and the others attempted to save Rocky from the invisible grasp which pulled him into the air, when their minds were once again infiltrated by another presence. Helplessly, they watched as Rocky drew near to the strangely powerful purple mutant.

"Dammit! Not this shit again!" Sweetheart yelled.

"Oh no, is it happening again? W-what do I do?" Aggie stammered.

"Agrippina…grab the psychic-nullifier! Grab the crown!" Liona willed herself to say, while pointing in the general direction of Boston's discarded headwear. Agrippina activated her Furtive Synth Component, and dashed over to the fallen crown beside the purple mutant, newly named The Voice. After the sneaky synth retrieved the crown, she began running as fast as she could back to Liona. From the corner of his F.E.V. enhanced eye, The Voice spotted the crown disappear suddenly from where it laid.

"Not so fast, android." He whispered. "M7-42, initiate prototype standby, authorization code: Theta, 5, 5, Sigma." Agrippina's body reacted instantly to The Voices words, deactivating her stealth field and suspending her functionality. As the synth toppled over mid-stride, she dropped the psychic nullifier which took a convenient roll towards Sweetheart.

"Aggie?!" Sweetheart called to the unconscious synth.

"Sweetheart, the crown - put it on!" Liona screamed. Sweetheart obeyed the scribe's words, and placed the rusty crown onto his head. As soon as its cold metal met his bald scalp, the effects of The Voices powers dissipated.

"It worked!" Sweetheart said delightedly. To his right he placed a tattooed hand on Montecrief's arm, who then also felt the pain in his head dissipate suddenly.

Monte recognized Sweetheart's touch as the catalyst for the spread of the psychic nullification. With faint hope and loose theory guiding him, the ghoul then laid his mangled paw on Liona's back, allowing her to be protected by the strange piece of metal headwear too.

"What's happening?" Liona mumbled as she stood up.

"I think physical contact transfers the protection from person to person. We just have to stay together." Montecrief explained.

"Ah, very clever, humans. Using my own tools against me." The Voice noted.

"Liona, you guys have to get out of here!" Rocky yelled from the center of the lab, where he was floating in front of The Voice.

"Fuck that, man. Not after what he did to Agrippina. I'm not done with this asshole yet!" Sweetheart aimed his rifle at the purple mutant and fired three times, after which Monte and Liona followed suit with barrages of their own. With his free hand, The Voice focused his telekinetic powers to lift a nearby countertop to shield himself from the volley of projectiles. After the counter had absorbed the entirety of the blow, he sent it hurtling towards Monte, Liona, and Sweety. The gargantuan counter slammed them into the laboratory wall, trapping them behind its immense weight.

"To you lot, I offer a few words, same as I did the Elder: You've done well to get to this point, but what happens next doesn't concern you, humans." The Voice explained, before turning his gaze to Rocky. "This is how it should be, Roc. Just you and -" The mutant once known as Boston released Rocky suddenly. "What — what's happening?" He squeezed his own head and began fidgeting uncontrollably in pain. The blade of energy evaporated from his arm, as he consoled his aching cranium.

"You haven't met the Doctors yet, have you Boston?" Rocky cracked a small smile as he spoke. "As you can tell, they're not the most hospitable of hosts."

"Get out! Get out of my brain, you damnable phantoms!" The Voice demanded of his intruders, while he wrestled with them for control over his mind. They did not heed his commands however, and instead pressed even harder in their attempt to turn his brain to 'mush'. Fortunately, the Doctor's arrival had provided Rocky with enough time to save his allies. He sprinted to their aid and hoisted the steel counter above his head, leaving them room to crawl out from behind it.

"Thank you, Rocky." Liona began to say something more, when she noticed Rocky grimace harshly. "Rocky? What's wrong?" She asked. Rocky ignored Liona and instead listened to the creeping presence in his mind.

"We cannot hold him much longer, mutant.

It's the S.P.V. — it's made him far too powerful!

The intruder has deactivated the explosives. You must reactivate them, and destroy this place!" The doctors said to Rocky.

"I can't do it. If I do that, I'll kill everyone! We can defeat him without them!" Rocky insisted.

"Fool, you cannot! Go to the terminal, now! Enter the code: 'Newton's Sevenfold'!

You must not let him escape, mutant! Were he to do so, I'd fear for the whole of mankind.

Selfish! What good are your lives compared to that of the rest of the world?" The Doctors argued vehemently. Rocky stared into Liona's green eyes one last time. He could see her confusion, her fear, and her hope displayed clearly within them. It was in that moment that he wished for the first time since his reawakening that he had never met her, and that he had remained as a mindless 'meat man' for Boston's clan. Monte and Sweety stood closely behind Liona. They joined her in looking to Rocky for a solution - for a way out of this unforeseeable mess.

"I know what I need to do. Forgive me, my friends." Rocky tore his eyes away from them, and sprinted for the Lab terminal. He booted it up, clicked on the box provided, and without another thought he entered the overseer's code. Immediately a cacophony of alarms blared and flashed throughout the Pinnacle. The Coalescence seemed to have fled The Voice by then, as he returned, more or less, to his usual demeanor. Once he had fully re-acclimated to an internal population of one, the first things The Voice noticed were the Spire's deafening alarms and Rocky standing near the terminal.

"Humph... Truthfully, I didn't see that coming." The Voice mumbled to himself. "You do realize, Roc, that we could have transformed the entire wasteland with the amount of evolutionary virus in this vault. A world of mutants, just like us."

"Perhaps like you, Boston. But now, we all die together - and the rest of the F.E.V. dies with us." Stated Rocky, not proudly or heroically as would befit such a statement, but sorrowfully.

"You and your companions will indeed die today, Roc. But I'll not be thwarted so easily." With a swiping hand motion, the purple mutant tore open a black portal out of reality itself. "Goodbye, Roc. You've chosen your people. Have them…for whatever time you have left." He growled before stepping into the portal.

"Oh, no you don't!" Said Liona, firing her Puppeteer sleeves tertiary mode for only the second time. The blue beam connected with Boston before he completely entered the portal, yanking him out of it as Liona now gained temporary control over his body and mind. "You are not leaving unless we do, asshole!" She said - not verbally - but from inside the mutants conscious mind.

"Is that so?" The purple mutant asked in return. "This toy of yours is not an adequate adversary for my psychic abilities, human; and neither are you."

"Liona, what's going on?" Rocky asked, to no response. Liona's body remained standing straight up and still as if she remained within it, when in truth she couldn't have been further away. Suddenly Liona gasped for air as if she had just surfaced from the bottom of a lake. Rocky and Monte caught her as she came to and held her until she seemed lucid and present. The Puppeteer sleeve on her arm began to sizzle and pop from overuse, and so she removed the broken otherworldly weapon with haste. Shivering and sweating profusely, Liona gawked at the sleeve fearfully as she held on tight to her allies' arms. The whole Spire began to shake then from the many explosions going off in the vault.

"Come on, you guys! Quick!" Sweetheart grabbed Agrippina's limp body and attempted to make a run for the portal, just missing it as it vanished, taking The Voice with it. "Fuckin', shit! What do we do now?" He began to worry as the explosions outside grew louder.

"Now I will guide you, raider." Spoke a voice quite unlike anything anyone present had ever heard. It was like Montecrief's voice, in that it seemed to resonate profoundly. Yet unlike Montecrief, the anonymous voice had a bassy rumble similar to a hungry Yao Guai's stomach. The entire group looked near where the Elder had been laying, presumably deceased, and towards where they heard the voice emanate from. There, they witnessed an ever-growing mass of grey matter hovering in his place. The faceless hunk of brain spoke to them once again, whilst wriggling its tentacle-like limbs around on the floor aimlessly. "Please, hold onto one another; it will make the task simpler."

"E-Elder Cyrus? Is that you?" Liona asked the unrecognizable mass.

"Who cares, just do as it says!" Sweetheart demanded.

"Sweetheart, just hold on a damn minute. We don't even know who or what this thing is." Montecrief backed Liona.

"Sweethearts right, we don't have a choice." Said Rocky, who then huddled next to the rest of the group and held Liona's diminutive, lightly-freckled hand. The scribe looked up at him timidly with her eyes wide and wet. His touch slowed her shivering to a slight vibration.

"I am Grey Matter. Nothing but Grey Matter." Said the grotesque mass, through some unseen orifice.

A long moment passed while the group held onto one another, just as the talking brain had requested, unsure of exactly what was about to occur. Then, before any of them had a chance to perceive it, it happened. It started on their skin, and worked its way into their bones: a feeling unlike any other found on earth. It vibrated like a humming bird, and fluctuated between cold and warm like a week's worth of days and nights in a desert, sped up to last only a moment, and by the end of that moment, they were gone.


	10. Chapter 10 - Motley Mutants

**Motley Mutants:** **Post-Apocalyptia** **Ch. 10 - Motley Mutants**

\+ Once he had been molecularly reassembled, the first thing Rocky felt was a stiff wind pressing against his face and chest. As soon as he was able to, he opened his eyes allowing the terrifying reality to sink in that he had been teleported from beneath the earth's surface, to somewhere in its lower atmosphere. He immediately began flapping his arms and legs frantically as if he had expected to sprout wings and fly his way down. He yelled out vainly into the evening sky, hoping for a vertibird or something of the like to spot him as he plummeted toward the earth. After a minute of falling through what felt to him like a mile of white fog, Rocky burst through the clouds only to find he was heading straight for the Steel Chapel's roof. A fraction of a second before he would have surely left a giant green stain on the Chapel's prewar stone, two pairs of taloned feet clamped around his arms lifting him away from the Chapel. Rocky stopped yelling at once and looked up to discover the identity of his saviors. Over one of his shoulders he saw a matriarch Bubo carrying a small redheaded scribe on its back.

"Hey big guy!" Liona called through the wind.

"Liona!" Rocky called back. "How -"

"That was far too close!" Monte yelled. Rocky looked over his opposite shoulder, where he saw the rest of his companions riding enormous, mutated owls of their own. Monte was jockeying the other owl whos talons held onto Rocky's arm. The birds carried him safely down to the catacombs entrance, in the woods behind the Steel Chapel. After everyone had dismounted their mutant birds, Liona unloaded Agrippina's body and whispered softly to the matriarch, seemingly permitting it to leave. The birds hooted in unison, and with a few beats of their massive wings, the Bubos returned to the skies of the wasteland, and to their new home.

"The Bubos… I thought they would have been killed in the vault explosion. It doesn't make any sense." Said Rocky to Liona, while he watched the Bubos fly away.

"Yeah, we did too. When that brain thing, Grey Matter, teleported us to the surface, I think it also sent some of the vaults inhabitants up too." Liona speculated.

"And it's a damn good thing too! When we came to while falling out of the sky, I thought we were goners for sure." Sweetheart said through a wide smile. His positive expression faded quickly when he saw Agrippina's body lying on the floor beside Liona. "What are we going to do about Aggie?" He asked. The group gathered around the dormant synth, and stared at her emotionless face.

"That mutant said something to her, an Institute override code or something, and then she was just…gone." Monte remembered. "Can anyone recollect exactly what he said?"

"Yeah, I think he said…" Liona ran her fingers through her curly, fiery hair as she sifted through her recent memories. "M7-42, initiate prototype standby, authorization code: Theta, 5, 5, Sigma." The scribe remembered perfectly.

"Damn. Are you sure you're not a synth too, Liona?" Sweety asked, in a half-kidding-yet-sort-of-serious kind of way. Liona chuckled softly.

"Mostly sure, yeah. Okay, so we know she can be deactivated by voice commands, so maybe she can be reactivated similarly. We just need to find the right words." Liona proposed.

"Oh! I think I've got it!" Sweety called out obnoxiously. He kneeled down beside the synth, and cleared his throat before speaking. "M7-42, initiate prototype _activation_ , authorization code: Theta, 5, 5, Sigma." Instantly Agrippina's coco-brown eyes were filled with life, as they darted between the faces of her companions. "Aggie? I did it! I saved you!" Said Sweety to the only partially aware synthetic.

"Sweety…you're kneeling on my arm. Get off of me!" - Aggie's first words after waking up, were.

"Oh, right, sorry. My bad." The former raider helped Aggie to her feet.

"What happened? The last thing I remember we were in some serious trouble, and I was holding that crown thingy." Aggie recalled, noticing the crown on Sweethearts head as she spoke. "Wait, why are you wearing it?"

"Oh, this?" Sweety refitted the oversized crown to his head. "That purple mutant said some phrase to you, and you fell as soon as you heard it; it was kind of like you went offline. The crown fell and rolled over to me after you dropped it."

"Really? I don't remember any of that. Dr. Maron knew my activation code? Dammit. He must have discovered it while he was living in the Institute. What happened after that? How in the world did we end up here?" Asked Aggie.

"We defeated that purple mutant - well, sort of. We destroyed all of the F.E.V. before he was able to transport it to the surface, at least. And then this weird giant brain thing named Grey Matter appeared from the Elder's body and teleported us into the sky. We would have died then, but the Bubos saved us." Sweety explained as best he could.

"Wait, what? Liona, is any of that even partly true?" Aggie asked incredulously.

"Believe it or not Agrippina, its all true." Liona reluctantly concurred with the raider.

"If it weren't for Liona, I we all certainly would have died." Montecrief added.

"'If it weren't for Liona': what does that mean?" Rocky squinted confusedly.

"It happened when I used the Puppeteer sleeve on Boston, or, The Voice…whatever his name is. When I did it the first time on you Rocky, it didn't feel at all like it did with him. I don't know what that S.P.V. did to him, but I think it may have had a minor effect on me also when I linked my consciousness with his. When we were falling, I saw a flock of Bubos flying near us. I imagined them flying over to us and carrying us to safety; in my mind, I was begging them to help. Something I thought must have compelled them, because the next thing I knew I was climbing onto the Matriarch's back." Liona recalled.

"You compelled them to help you, using your brain… What does that mean? Are you…a mutant?" Rocky asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Everyone looked at the brown skinned synth, who had chimed in unexpectedly. "She won't be growing any extra limbs or antennas, but she won't be exactly the same as she was before either. It sounds to me like she's become a Psyker."

"A 'Psyker'?" Liona repeated.

"Care to elaborate, Aggie?" Monte asked.

"It's a kind of person, I suppose you could say. A person with rare psionic abilities. We studied them some at the Institute, whenever we could find one that is. It normally occurs as a mutation given at birth, but there have been select cases where it's come from being exposed to another Psyker's abilities. If I remember correctly, the commonly held belief amongst the Institute's scientists was that it had something to do with the human brain's latent potential being amplified through contact with foreign psionics. Their powers range from the ability to bend spoons without touching them, all the way to controlling the way someone thinks or acts; Liona seems to belong to the latter category, I'd say."

"That's crazy. Do you feel any different? Like do you see super far away now, or can you hear my heart beat or something?" Sweetheart asked excitedly.

"No. I'm not a super hero, Sweetheart. I don't even feel any different, to be honest." Liona admitted.

"What a load of brahmin crap." Spoke a prepubescent voice suddenly. The group's attention shifted to the catacombs entrance where Ramsey Fink was leaning against his floating, one-of-a-kind robot, Edgar.

"Ramsey? What are you doing here?" Liona asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, before I overheard everything. Edgar and I were waiting for you guys by the vault door, when it began to shut. Then we heard the explosions, and assumed the worst. For the first time that I can remember, I'm glad I was wrong." The squire explained.

"I'm glad you were too." Liona agreed with a half-smile.

"Did you guys say that Boston got away?" Asked Ramsey.

"Yeah, he did. We tried to stop him, but whatever was in that virus he took made him too powerful… We didn't stand a chance." Liona admitted regretfully.

"What about the Elder?"

"What about the F.E.V.?" Ramsey and Edgar asked respectively.

"The Elder took a dose of the same syringe Boston did. He…transformed, into something like a floating brain with tentacles. It didn't seem like him anymore, though. It was like he had…evolved, I guess." Liona explained as best she could.

"And what about the F.E.V.?" Edgar asked again.

"We destroyed it - all of it. That's what the explosions you heard were for." Rocky replied.

"You really did? Wow! That's…" Ramsey removed his squire's cap and rubbed his scalp nervously. "Listen Rocky, I know I've been kinda mean to you in the past but… I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for shooting you with my sling shot." Rocky and Ramsey shared a brief laugh over the reference. Rocky offered his hand to Ramsey who then shook it as best he could with his own much smaller hand. "So anyway… What's next?" Ramsey asked.

"Now we go to the chapel." Liona answered. "And we hope there's still people there waiting for us."

\+ As the group neared the Steel Chapel and its surrounding buildings, they quickly noticed that the fighting between the super mutants and the Brotherhood had long since ended. They walked through the piles of rubble and debris that covered the courtyard, and witnessed the remains of the many dozens of slayed mutants. For every one dead mutant however, there was at least one fallen Knight or Scribe or Lancer to match. Even Liona, who had lived in Fort Duke for most of her life, had trouble recognizing much of anything besides the Steel Chapel itself, which stood as the only completely intact building amongst the carnage. All of the trees in the courtyard had either fallen or were burning as they came across them, and the pavement had cracked and crumbled throughout. To make things worse, the botany scribes' laboriously maintained gardens had been trampled by the storming mutant army, rendering their produce useless. The closer they got to the Steel Chapel, the more soldiers and medical personnel they spotted. It was beginning to become clear to the group who had survived the battle, and perhaps less clear who had actually won it. Several helmetless Knights were seen grasping the hands and caressing the faces of their fallen brethren. The Field Scribes had run out of stimpacks and could only apply med-x to the wounded in order to quell their suffering as they passed. As soon as they arrived at the chapel's portcullis gate, Rocky and Liona spotted a familiar soldier, speaking in broken sentences to Star-Paladin James Reese.

"Did we…did we win, Paladin?" Spoke the soldier, whose left arm had been torn from his shoulder, and whose left eye looked to have been bludgeoned free from its socket. The sightless, marble-like organ dangled loosely over his cheek, causing even the tempered stomach of the Paladin to waver and to turn slightly.

"Yes, boy… Yes _Brother_. We won. We won, Doyle." Paladin Reese replied in an unnaturally subdued tone.

"I…I did my best…Paladin. I wanted -" Knight Doyle Samson paused to cough up a bloody loogie. "I wanted to…to guard the gate…so badly. I really did." The dying Knight promised.

"Silence, Knight. You _did_ hold the gate…you senseless dope. _You_ saved the lives of all of the civilians in this fort. Doyle you -" Reese and the group behind him watched as Doyle's remaining eye ceased to relay any sign of life. Doyle Samson had died. "Damn you, Doyle." Reese laid Samson's mangled head to rest, softly on the dirt. He then looked over his shoulder, and saw the group led by Rocky and Liona standing behind him. "Sentinel... You're back." Reese stood up slowly, pushing off of his knees for support.

"Reese. I'm so sorry. We should have gotten here earlier. Maybe -"

"It wouldn't have meant a damn thing. With all due respect Sentinel, it wouldn't have changed anything. Cyrus, damn his name…" The Paladin's face hardened and creased. His nostrils flared like he had smelt something foul and repugnant. The whites of his eyes were striped with red lines, his cheeks were smeared with black dirt, and his short, golden-brown mane fell over one side of his face. "The Elder sabotaged our defenses. He sent you and me all the way over to Montecrief house with our best Vertibird, and he moved all of our border patrols to the south. We never saw them coming. Not to mention, he also disabled our emergency defense laser turrets to boot. When I got here, Dorsey told me that the battle was just about won. He said Liona had helped him split their forces, and that the Big-Bird mini nukes had crippled the mutants' lines. What he didn't know, and what I didn't know, was we had only been fighting the super mutants' first wave of attackers - we had only defeated the vanguard. As we chased after what we thought were the final mutants, an entire new tide came crashing down on us from the hills… They kicked our asses." Reese's voice narrowed to a whisper.

"How did you manage to win, Paladin?" Liona asked.

"'Win'? Never mind what I told the boy just now, Liona. We most certainly did not win. We survived. And we only managed that because that purple bastard showed up out of nowhere and opened up some kind of…portal. He ordered the remaining mutants through it, and that was that." Reese recalled.

"That was their leader. The mutant named Boston, or…The Voice, I suppose. We kept him from taking any of the vault's F.E.V., but he still got his hands on another virus: the S.P.V. Whatever was in that second virus, I don't know, but it clearly unlocked some supernatural abilities within him." Rocky explained.

"Well, I guess I'll take any win I can get at this point. At least he won't be creating any more mutants for a little while. For the sake of the people still alive, we call today a victory, pyric as it may be." Reese peered passed Liona, spotting Squire Fink standing behind her. I'm glad to see you got the boy back as well; that makes two wins by my count. Squire Fink, come with me. Your mother will want to see you, I'm sure. The rest of you, follow too. You're all friends to the Brotherhood of Steel as far as I'm concerned." Reese ordered through his radio that the gate be opened finally, and soon it was. The Paladin held onto Ramsey's shoulder as he led the group of six plus Edgar into the Steel Chapel.

\+ Inside, the scribes and civilians had taken it upon themselves to decorate the Steel Chapel with hundreds of burning candles throughout its interior. The two five-thousand pipe organs along with the fifty-bell carillon filled every corner of the chapel with resonant and somber music, which continued playing as they entered. Poking their heads out of every room of the chapel were children, both big and small, with curious eyes and nervous smiles. The peeking adolescents stared mostly at Ramsey - a boy hardly older than themselves - who somehow had been outside during the battle. He smiled cheekily and tilted his chin upwards once he realized they were looking at him. One by one, the scribes in charge of protecting the children were seen emerging from the rooms, attempting to get a look at the first people to enter the chapel since the battle had begun. To their surprise, they witnessed a tattered group of oddities following Squire Fink and Star-Paladin Reese, comprised of a Mutant, a Psyker, a Synth, a Raider, and a Ghoul. Suddenly bursting out of one of the rooms was a woman with a similarly colored head of hair to Ramsey Fink. She called his name out, and the boy followed by his robot hurried to meet her in embrace, prompting the rest of the group to smile brightly. When the group finally made it to the front of the room and to the stage nearest to the Elder's Quarters, Reese signaled that the music cease with a raised hand. Once it did, he waited for all of the people of Fort Duke, both soldiers and civilians alike, to fill its hall right up to the stage. As night began to fall outside, the candles and burning incense of the chapel became the only light by which to see the stage. From the chapel entrance Rocky spotted a familiar tri-headed mutant hound bull its way through the crowd and right up the stage, followed by a group of four Brotherhood Knights, and a raven haired scribe. Despite the sudden scare caused by Cerberus' appearance in the chapel, the crowd's gasps and grimaces soon gave way to smiles and chuckles as Cerberus greeted his master with a flurry of sloppy kisses. With everyone safely inside, Intrepid squad raised the chapel gate, and removed their helmets. Paladin James Reese cleared his throat, and prepared to speak to his people.

"October 25th, 2295. That's today's date, and I don't think I'm ever likely to forget it. We started out today with over 220 people here at Fort Duke; 117 of them were Knights, like me. Our Elder, a man anointed by the Brotherhood's western leadership to be our protector, betrayed those Knights today…and he betrayed all of you too. He sabotaged our defenses, and conspired with the super mutant leader to gain access into a long forgotten vault, located beneath this very fort: Vault 52. Inside, they sought to find more of the F.E.V.: the infamous virus used to create mutants. I don't know why the Elder aided the mutants, but I don't really care either, because he's gone. These soldiers beside me, all of whom have proven themselves loyal to the Brotherhood, went after the Elder and his co-conspirators. They defeated them, safely returned our young, brave Ramsey Fink, and prevented them from returning to the wasteland with even a drop of the F.E.V. When the cowardly leader of the mutants fled with his army, he did so knowing he had been thwarted by the Brotherhood and its allies." Reece took a moment while the crowd cheered and clapped rapturously. His face's stoic expression never once broke as he waited for them to quiet. "October 25th, 2295. Many of my brothers and sisters - many of _our_ brothers and sisters - died today, so that we could continue living. While the menace responsible for their deaths still lives, I for one will rest assured knowing that we have friends like…like… Well, I'm not really sure what to call them." Reese, and the entire audience, turned to face the group of five. The members of the group looked amongst themselves nervously, each expecting the other to speak. As usual, Agrippina was the first to verbalize her thoughts.

"Well, what was it Monte said? 'We're one Motley group of Mutants'?" The Synth spoke, as if to everyone present. "How about that: Motley Mutants?"

"Wait, what? I wasn't saying we should name ourselves that. We're not some prewar alternative rock band. I was just pointing out the obvious." Montecrief protested.

"No, wait… I actually like it! It has a nice alliterative ring to it." Said Liona.

"Yeah, I like it too. Motley Mutants." Sweetheart agreed with a shrug.

"You guys can't be serious." Monte continued resisting.

"Hush, Monte… What do you think, Rocky?" Aggie asked with a squinty smile. The entire crowd watched patiently as Rocky thought for a prolonged moment. As he did, some children in the crowd began chanting the name syllabically, over and over. "Mot-ley Mut-ants, Mot-ley Mut-ants!" Rocky smiled awkwardly, and looked up at the crowd of humans.

"We're the Motley Mutants."


End file.
